


A Funky Old Shack

by coco_finny



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: AU Swapfell Red, AU Underfell - Freeform, AU Underswap, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Mentions of Death, Mild Sexual Content, Reader Insert, Reverse Harem, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Strong Language, TAGS WILL BE UPDATED WHEN APPROPRIATE, lil bit of angst, mild verbal abuse, rating for future chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-07-23 07:17:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 64,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16154249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coco_finny/pseuds/coco_finny
Summary: 'You march towards the door and throw it open.Something large and heavy comes crashing through the frame, and you stagger back with a yell, catching flashes of red, blue, black, and white as the colourful mass tumbles to the floor with a chorus of loud thumps.“You imbecile!” the mass shrieks.“Owie!” another voice from the pile moans. “Get your elbow out of my ribs!”“Get your ribs out of my elbow!”“Ah-hah! I have succeeded in opening the door!”“The door opened on its own, you fool. Probably because of your incessant hammering.”You can only stare at the writhing pile of skeletons.'After being left a colossal house by your grandparents, that’s far too large to afford by yourself, the only thing you can do with it is rent out the rooms – it’s all you have left, and you’re not about to give it up. Even if it means renting the rooms to monsters…who all look disturbingly alike, and possess the same names…You cannot give up just yet – you have to retain your integrity.WARNINGS WILL BE ADDRESSED FOR EACH CHAPTER





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww yea, jumping on that reverse-harem bandwagon and riding it backwards into Hell. 
> 
> Warnings for chapter: None

_I got me a Chrysler, it seats about twenty,_

_So hurry up, and bring your jukebox money!_

Love Shack – B52

-

**-Prologue-**

**\- -**

 

You get a response to your advert on _allmove.com_ quicker than you expected.

After a long, gruelling day of moving box after box of random crap to the loft conversion of the house, you decided to take a quick peek at the site to see if any potential buyers were at least interested in the available rooms.

You honestly weren’t expecting an inquiry email about it so soon.

The email was short and sweet, from someone by the name of Sans – just Sans, no other name than their email: _asdfgh123@undermail.com_ – simply stating that they liked the look of the house, and would love to set up an interview as soon as possible.

You assume that this Sans is a monster, since they use Undermail. To avoid the blatantly racist implications of adding a big _NO MONSTERS–HUMANS ONLY_ – and likewise, _NO HUMANS–MONSTERS ONLY_ – to advertisements, job listings, and the like, specific websites were created to segregate the species a little less…tactlessly. The general consensus was to begin all human specific websites with _over-something_ dot com, and all monster specific websites with _under-something_ dot com.   

Not that it was any better. Thankfully, over the years, the more open-minded members of society, consisting of humans and monsters alike, created websites and other hangouts that completely disregarded the human/monster segregation, such as _allmove.com_.    

You don’t really care who takes the rooms, monsters or humans – just that they are taken so you don’t have to pay for the colossal house left to you, and potentially lose it.

Knowing that Sans is due in less than an hour, you decide to give said house one final sweep, ensuring that all the rooms not only look tidy, but show off their space. The communal areas you’ve spruced up to look cosy enough to relax in, but spacious enough to host several people at a time without seeming too cramped.

You’re not really one to brag, but you’ve done a damn fine job. Your grandparents would be proud.

As you sweep up the first floor hall, you contemplate your decision to post the rooms online so soon. Perhaps you were being too hasty, since you may end up sorting through all the crap you’ve stored in the attic while some of your new tenants are living here…but hopefully they won’t mind you popping in from time to time. It is still your house, after all, and getting rid of your grandparents’ belongings turned out to be a lot harder than you anticipated.

When Sans doesn’t appear after the hour has passed, you assume that they’re running late and they certainly _haven’t_ forgotten about your meeting, so you make yourself comfortable in the kitchen and check your laptop to see if anyone else is interested in the rooms – you’re hoping that the mutual fascination that has steadily grown between the species will attract tenants hoping to intermingle.

Your house agent heartily agreed to your proposal. Sadly, he was too busy with other business to help with the tour today, but you know the contracts off by heart at this point, having combed through them to ensure that you were meeting all guidelines and that even the small print was clear. Many people looking for a place to live would find a house as large as yours too good to be true, like there was some sort of catch – mildew in the walls, ghosts in the attic…you’ve had people say to you over the years that the house looks _haunted as fuck_. You’ve been meaning to get a doormat with those words printed across it in red.

It is a rather old house, too. You’re surprised that it didn’t crumble immediately during the earthquake caused when the Barrier shattered. Though a sudden freak storm that hit the city a few months ago wrecked the back porch, tearing loose a few of the wooden boards and the bug screens, but nothing too difficult to fix. You had already spent enough money on electricians, plumbers, and building consultants, checking the house from top to bottom to ensure that it was in tip-top condition before advertising the rooms – and then the storm happened. But you weren’t going to waste what little money you had left from all the checks on a job that you could very easily do yourself.

Though you _have_ neglected to replace the broken screens…

Your heart sinks when you read the line of text in bold red: _No one is looking at this property,_ beneath the house listing. Perhaps the mutual fascination hasn’t quite outmatched the mutual hatred between species yet…

Or perhaps you are getting ahead of yourself. After Sans’s speedy reply, you seem to have convinced yourself that others will quickly follow.

“It’s only been a day,” you whisper to yourself.

You consider delving into the first of the storage rooms in the loft, but you may not hear the doorbell from so high up. One of the main reasons why you decided not to advertise the rooms in the attic – besides needing them for all the extra boxes – was that they were so far away from the rest of the house. It didn’t seem fair to shove a couple of tenants up somewhere they couldn’t hear so much as the doorbell ringing.

Maybe once your cleaned up your mess, you can rent out one of the rooms to someone who rather enjoys their own company – of the current rooms, the basement is the most isolated; perfect for people who like their privacy.

But instead of cleaning, you make yourself some tea while listening to the latest Mettaton single. It’s very like the single he released only a few months ago – all of Mettaton’s single are very…samey. But he certainly has a talent to entertain. So it’s rather bittersweet that Mettaton’s booming popularity mostly came down to him looking less like a monster than the rest of his species.

Robots were apparently exempt from the stigma of monster-kind.     

A lazy knock from the front door alerts you. You abandon your tea and snap your laptop shut, and practically skip through the house to answer the knock, gleeful anticipation sending your blood racing.

Whoever this Sans is, they seem rather laid-back, based on their sparse email. You like the sound of a laid-back tenant – they seem the easiest to please.

You’re careful not to throw the door open in your enthusiasm, keeping a tight lid on your excitement.

You gently open the door. “Hello! Welcome! It’s nice to –”

You blink, then look down.

Oh, you were right on the money – Sans is most definitely a monster.

…

That, or they’re dead.

“You must be Sans,” you say as pleasantly as you can, a little thrown by their appearance. Most of the monsters you met since they were freed from beneath Mt. Ebott were of the animal variety – though you did once happen to cross paths with a monster made entirely of fire, and another that was a giant, walking eyeball – but you never imagined that a skeleton could qualify as a monster.

It may be because they seem a little too close to human than monster. This Sans does look as though he couldn’t stay in the grave; dressed in a turtleneck, a blue hooded jacket, and black shorts, that all look relatively clean, save for a small red stain on the neck of his sweater that may very well be blood from the wound that killed him.

Hopefully not.

They - he? - looks quite relaxed, slouching on the porch with his hands in his pockets. His brow is just level with your chin, though it seems that his slouch makes him appear shorter.

“That’s the name,” he replies in a distinctly male voice. He winks, and you’re stunned – how on earth…? His face does look solid, but when it moves, it stretches and pulls like silicone. You’re momentarily fascinated.

“Yes!” you squawk when you realise that you’re staring. “It’s nice to meet you, finally.”

“Heh, yeah?” Sans holds out a hand – that’s all bone too, nothing else. “You too.”

You take his hand a little too eagerly, wanting to feel how all the tiny bones are connected together without tendons. The moment you grip his palm, a loud, jarring _HONK!_ jolts you, and you pull back with a yelp.

Though it should have been impossible, Sans’s grin widens the smallest bit. He lifts his arm, and his sleeve slips down to reveal a small clown horn strapped to his wrist with a rubber band, the air sack in his palm.

Your heart is beating a mile a minute. “What just happened?” you gasp.

Sans chuckles. “The whoopie cushion became too predictable. Course, the clown horn isn’t as funny, but seeing people do what you just did…” He laughs again.

You blink. A whoopie cushion?

Oh…a practical joker? Apprehension curls in your gut – most people don’t appreciate the company of someone who gets a kick out of pranking them. Then again, the joke was pretty harmless…

You release a shaky laugh. “Well, it did help with the whole awkward-first-meeting.”  

Sans returns his booby-trapped hand to his pocket. “Worked like a charm. You the homeowner?”

You nod and give him your name. “Come on in. Would you like anything to –”

You bite your tongue. Can a skeleton drink? Can they eat? Did you just accidentally offend a potential tenant with such a careless question?

Sans steps over the threshold, bringing in with him the scent of the warm afternoon air, and shakes his head. “I’d never say no to a free meal, but I’m good, thanks.”

He _can_ eat? Well…if he can talk, then he must be able to eat. You desperately want to ask how that’s possible without it all falling out of his…ribs. He could be messing with you, since he seems to get a kick out of confounding people. Or maybe it’s some kind of monster magic that you’re unaware of…but you’ve been rude enough with all of your staring. Joke or not, asking personal questions would definitely be overstepping.

“Right,” you say breathlessly. “Well, welcome! Thank you so much for coming.”

Sans hums, gazing about the entrance hall. In his each of his large sockets is a tiny glow that mimics a human eye, rolling about in a black void within his skull as he assesses his surroundings. “Pleasure’s mine. Nice place you’ve got here.” He peers up the staircase and lets out a low whistle.

Did he…just whistle without lips? Though, surely if he can speak without lips…

Monsters are weird.

“ _Really_ nice place,” he says. “You weren’t kidding when you said ten rooms.”

Your cheeks warm and pride blooms in your chest. “Eight, actually. I’m hoping to maybe rent out a ninth, but , uh…I had to start storing stuff in the loft conversion.” You very quickly filled up all available spaces in your place, stacking boxes and bags in every corner of every room. Anyone walking in would think that you really don’t have your life together.

Sans nods. “Cool.”

“Would you like to sit down?” you offer, gesturing towards the living room.

“Sure.”

As he follows you through, he casually studies the room, his strange eyes roaming over every piece of furniture, the floor, the ceiling, then he peeks through the arch leading to the kitchen.

“Have you had to travel far?” you ask.

“Not really,” he replies. “But transport outside of central Ebott ain’t great.”

“Yeah…” You may have been too distracted by his appearance to check, but you’re certain that you didn’t see a car parked on the curb, or a taxi pull away when you answered the door. Unless he took the bus? But the buses into the city are so infrequent, and the journey takes up to fifty minutes on a good day. “I’m sorry about that. This place is kind of out of the way.”

As you walk towards the couches circled around the TV, pushed up against the far wall, Sans keep a reasonable distance from you, adopting a slow pace so he can take in every detail of the room. “Oh, yeah, I know.” He pauses to stare out the window overlooking the front yard, his eyes running up and down the length of the glass. “It’s cool. I wasn’t far away.”

You take a seat. “So…before I give you the tour, I just want to ask you a few questions.”

Sans withdraws his hand from his pocket and clenches his fist twice, squeaking the horn. “Right. No more clowning around.”

Ah, a comedian, too. You can’t hold back the smile, however, and Sans catches it, honking the horn once more for good measure.

You motion for him to sit, and takes the couch opposite you. He relaxes in seconds, sinking into the cushions and resting his hands in his lap.

“So, first,” you say, “I’m surprised that you answered the ad so quickly.”

Sans shrugs. “Yeah. Needed a place.”

… Rather straight-forward. Perhaps he’s desperate but doesn’t want to admit it. He does have that aura about him that seems so laid back that it comes off like it’s all a façade. You know that feeling very well. Your grandmother used to say that you were like a swan; perfectly controlled on the surface, but beneath the water your legs are kicking wildly and desperately to keep you afloat. 

“This may seem like prying,” you say, “but is there any reason this house stood out to you?”

Sans glances up at the ceiling. “The space. You sure have a lot of it.”

You nod. So he needs the space…for work? Or something else? You know that some monsters still have difficulty finding suitable homes to meet their specific needs. But despite his words, Sans doesn’t seem very enthusiastic…perhaps you’re not selling it enough.

You clear your throat. “I figured that maybe we could go over the contract in a little more depth.”

Sans nods, meeting your gaze. “Long term, yeah?”

“Long term,” you confirm. “Fourteen months. And all bills are included in the rent. The rent for each room is the same, save for the second floor, since they’re bigger, and every payment can be made however you want. Monthly, in a three-month sum, or yearly.”

Sans hums thoughtfully.

Your cheeks burn – were you too bold to talk of payment methods so soon?

“That is!” you blurt. ”Of course, if you actually decide to…live here…”

“Sure,” Sans says. “Has anyone else gotten in touch with you yet?”

“No, no,” you say. “You’re the first.”

His abnormal grin widens again. “Sweet.”

You return his smile, emboldened. “So it means that you would get first pick of the rooms.”

“Nah, I don’t really care what room I get. S’long as it’s got a bed, I’m happy.”

“Well, yes…all furniture is included,” you say. You hope that your tactic of providing tenants with furniture may further convince them to take the rooms – and you just couldn’t bear to part with the things that you’ve grown up around, hence all the boxes in the attic, and cluttered about your own house. “There are beds, dressers…but if you happen to have any of your own furniture that you’d rather bring…?”

“Not really,” Sans says. “My brother, maybe.”

Brother? “Oh…does he need a place to stay too?” Excitement bubbles in your stomach at the prospect of filling two rooms in one day.

“Uh-huh. I’m here on behalf of all of us.” He winks. "I can fill out these rooms."

 _All of us?_ You're a little doubtful, but hopeful at the same time – the sooner you can fill out all eight rooms, the better. "Seriously?"

"Yep," Sans says. "You get final say, obviously."

“Wait…so,” you splutter, “you can fill out _all eight_ rooms?” Things must be worse than you thought. In the year following the Barrier shattering, central Ebott was abuzz with monsters needing homes, shacking up in shelters while legalities were sorted out. But things have been rapidly smoothing out thanks to the efforts of the monsters’ royal family and their incredible patience with the floundering human government.

Even five years later, it seems that they still have a long way to go.

“I mean, this place is way better than where we are right now,” Sans says. “Little pricy, but good value, I’d say.” Your surprise must be showing on your face, and he seems to mistake it for concern. “Like, if that’s too much too soon –?”

“Oh, jeez, it’s not!” you assure him. “Honestly, it’s fantastic! I’ve been hoping to get these rooms filled as quickly as possible.”

Sans relaxes. “Then consider them filled.”

You mentally celebrate your incredible luck, your cheeks stretched by an immovable smile. “Are they family?”

Sans scratches the side of his head…skull. “Yeah, I guess.”

 _I guess?_ What on earth does that mean? You’re either related to someone, or you’re not. You only asked since he referred to his brother.

Unless he’s using the term in the broader sense, alluding to these friends of his as being monsters as well?

"I gotta ask," Sans suddenly says, "how does a girl like you get a place like this? You gotta be, what...twenty-five? Twenty-six?"

Your smile widens. “It was my great-grandparents' house. They made their fortune by shining shoes, would you believe?"

When Sans hums approvingly, the pride blooming in your chest inflates your head slightly.

"My great-grandfather would go out as a kid and shine the shoes of well-to-do people," you continue. "He even made his own polish with whatever he could afford. Eventually, he ended up mass-producing it, and _voila!_ He's earning mega-bucks. But he valued hard work. I mean, he loved his kids...my grandfather and his brothers...but he didn't want them to grow up without knowing what it means to gets your hands dirty from a hard day’s work. He only let them live in this place when he retired. And then, my grandparents left it to me."

Something on Sans's brow shifts and pulls, imitating a raised eyebrow, and you're enraptured by it.

"Your parents didn't get this place?" he asks.

A bitter pang of grief pierces your heart, but it's fleeting. You shrug it off, as you've always done. "They would have if they, uh...were around."

"Ah..." Sans's shoulders hunch slightly, and he looks mildly embarrassed. "Sorry, kid."

You shake your head. "No, no," you say sincerely. "I was way too young to understand when it happened. I mean, I do feel a little sad when I think about it sometimes, but only because I didn't get to know my parents a little more. My grandparents on my dad's side raised me instead, in this house. And now...I've got it."

“Not a bad deal.” Sans gazes up at the ceiling again. "Can I ask why you're renting it out?"

"This house is way too big for little old me," you say, gesturing to the staircase, to the rooms beyond. "Too big, too quiet...too expensive. And besides, I can put it to good use by renting it out to anyone in a pinch."

“Too expensive, huh?” Sans frowns, then asks cautiously, “I know it’s none of by business, but…no fortune from all the shoe-shining?”

“Ah, well… When I say my grandfather sold the business…” You sigh. “It was bought out. Humans today don’t need their shoes shining, I guess. And he always believed that money earned should go to the community. I got a bit from my grandmother…enough to spruce this place up, but I’m scraping the bottom of the piggy bank now.”

“You did a pretty good job,” Sans says earnestly, “if that helps?”

Your cheeks warm. “It does. Thanks.”

"You live nearby?"

"There's a conversion out the back." You point in the direction of the back yard. "It used to be a detached garage before my dad turned it into a living space. Nice cosy little place for one person, and I moved in a month after I got legal permission. That way I can be nearby if you need me, and I can act as housekeeper!"

“Handy. How long did it take for you to remodel this place, then?” Sans gestures around the room.

“Uh…a good year,” you say. “But that was because of all the legalities. This house has been around since the early nineteen-hundreds, so it’s had tons of work done over the years. The basement took the longest to convert…moving boxes up and down those stairs was a nightmare. And it’s opposite the boiler room, so I had to do checks to make sure the pipes weren’t too noisy, and there was no damp or anything.”

Sans chuckles. “I know which one of us will happily take the basement.”

The fact that he’s already assigning rooms to his mysterious, motley crew further stokes the excitement within you. “I mean, I’ve still got to clean out the rooms I’ve filled. I do want to rent those out too…eventually. So I may be running in and out over the next few months, but I won’t get in your way too much.”

You stand. “Would you like to see the rest of the rooms? I can show you the other communal areas?”

Sans shakes his head. “Nah, I’m already sold. This place looks pretty well looked after, too.”

You beam. “It’s my pride and joy. I was raised in this house, so I wasn’t about to let it rot or sell it to be knocked down.”

Sans scratches the side of his jaw. “Again, none of my business, but wouldn’t that have been easier?”   

“Selling it?” You can’t imagine ever leaving this house in the hands of some stranger. “I mean, sure, that would have been way easier, but I don’t want to part with it just yet. But I can’t afford it by myself, either.”

There’s understanding in Sans’s eyes – it’s strange to see such emotion in near-empty sockets. “Do you work full time?” he asks.

“Unfortunately, no,” you reply. “I work two days a week at the local school. Helping five-year-olds practise life skills for when they have to decide on a career when they turn six. What about you?”

“Odd jobs, here and there. Speaking of…payment?”

“Oh! Right.” You return to your seat – you can’t believe you’re talking money already! You were certain that being a homeowner would be filled with complications and tedious legal jargon, but in the space of a single day you’ve already potentially filled each room without even giving a tour!

In that moment, you realise that Sans and his roommates must really be desperate. The thought is a little saddening.

“Do you take GOLD?” Sans asks. “Or do you prefer human cash?”

You shrug. “I don’t really mind how the rent is paid. Though I would prefer human currency only because I’d have to adjust the contracts, and factor in the exchange rate.”

“We can pay in human currency,” Sans assures.

“And, of course, the payments can be made in whatever sum you choose,” you remind him.

Sans nods, waving a hand lazily. "Yeah, yeah, I understand. I'll get the others to set up interviews with you. What days are best?"

You can barely contain your excitement. "Every day after ten AM, except Mondays and Tuesdays."

Sans's smile widens, then he slides off the couch. "Cool. Maybe you should be prepared for them to show at any time...maybe even on the dot.”

"All I'll be doing is cleaning the place up," you say. "I probably won't leave the house for anything this week." You pause – this all seems too easy. “Are you…sure you don’t want to see the house?”

Sans’s grin turns…mischievous? “Eh, maybe when the guys have been.”

Are his roommates hostile? You don’t know if it’s the specific words he used, or the way his expression morphed into something…suspicious when mentioning them that has you concerned. Perhaps it was the basement comment, and how he already knows which of his roommates will happily take it. Though you’ve converted the basement into a comfortable living space from the dank pit that used to stink so much of shoe polish that you would get high every time you went down there, it’s still quite secluded – good for those who like their privacy, sure…but also good for those with something to hide.

You want to believe that perhaps this roommate is just shy, and not someone deep in business of the questionable, perhaps even illicit, kind.    

“Like I said,” Sans continues with a wink, “I really don’t care what room I get, and I’m already sold on the place. But, uh…some of the guys may want a pretty in-depth tour. Don’t worry, though, they’ll all want to move in.”

“Right…that’s great to hear,” you say, trying to ignore the trepidation bubbling unpleasantly in your belly, quickly extinguishing the excitement. Sans seems pleasant enough, but now you’re worried that this may be some kind of scam. It’s all moving far too fast. Doesn’t he want to think about this, first? Doesn’t he want to know if there’s mildew in the walls, or if the house is haunted?

…   

He’s a _skeleton_.

Maybe you should get that doormat tomorrow.

“Can I be honest about something?” you ask.

In an instant, Sans’s relaxed aura dims a little, and he tenses.

You hurry to placate him before he can misinterpret your words. “When you emailed me, I thought you were a spam bot.”

He sags. “Heh, yeah, I guess it does look kinda suspicious.”

“What does it mean?” you venture now that he’s relaxed again. “The email?”    

“Oh,” he says, shrugging. “I just ran my finger along the keyboard, but then it got all snappy at me ‘cause I had to add numbers. _Asdf123_ was taken…so was _asdfg123_ …so I just kept going ‘til I got _asdfgh123_.”

That sounds both lazy and quite endearing. Is his password _password123_ , too?           

“Well, I’m glad you’re not a spam bot,” you say.

Sans’s grin turns hard. “What about a monster?”

Though you knew the question was coming, it still makes your stomach churn, and an ugly feeling coils deep in your gut. “As long as you can pay the rent, I don’t care if you’re a monster, a human, or anything in-between. You could be a rock and I’d still give you a room if you could pay for it.”

Sans blinks, then his grim expression fades. “Eyes on the prize, huh? At least you weren’t all patronising about it.”

You only shrug. One of your colleagues at the school once gushed about how she was _totally okay_ with monsters; replaying her little self-righteous monologue in your head and replacing the word _monsters_ with _dogs_ really did expose just how belittling it sounded.  

You can imagine how irritating it must be for a monster to listen to. But you wonder if the gushing any more demeaning than the reverse?

“I’d better tell the guys,” Sans then says, pulling you from your musings.

“You’re leaving already?” That didn’t even last an hour. Either you seem to have some previously undiscovered natural talent as a homeowner, or Sans it just that laid back about the whole situation. You rise from the couch. “I can show you out?”

“Sure,” Sans says pleasantly.

As you walk with him towards the front door, he asks, “Any house rules I should warn them about? Smoking?”

If that’s his first concern, the it sounds as though some of his roommates are smokers. “Smoking’s a definite _no-no_ ,” you say. “Not in the house, anyway. Keep it on the porch, and any cigarette butts need to be disposed of properly.” Your grandmother would start rolling in her grave if she learned that her garden was littered with ash and cigarette butts. She may even end up actually haunting the house and hexing the culprits.

“Heh, you don’t have to worry about that,” Sans says with a strange expression.

You both halt in the middle of the entrance hall. “And no pets,” you add. “Unless they can be kept in a cage, or something. Like a hamster, a gerbil. Even a rabbit’s okay as long as it’s kept in a hutch.” That will most definitely attract your grandfather’s restless spirit – he wouldn’t even let you keep a fish after the one you won at a local fair leapt out of it’s tank and got stuck in the air vents.

You can still remember the terrible smell during hot summers…

“Done and done,” Sans says, pulling a cell phone from his pocket. “Uh, you busy for the rest of the day?”

“No…” you reply hesitantly. “Did you want to go over other contracts or something?”

“Hmm, nope.” Sans taps away at his phone for a brief moment, before he pockets it again. “Just curious. I do have one more question, though. Get any noise complaints?”   

“Me personally?” You shake your head. “Never had one made about me, and I can’t say I’ve ever had to file one myself.”

Sans turns to stare out of the window. “No noisy neighbours?”  

You laugh. “Even if they were, I wouldn’t be able to tell.” Though there are houses in the area, they’re rather spaced out, making it seem as though you live in the middle of nowhere – good for those who like peace, but not for the those who thrive on social interaction. One of your colleagues even went as far as not-so-politely saying that she _would go crazy within hours if she lived all the way out there_. “Your roommates don’t need to worry about noise, if that’s what you mean?”

That mischievous smile is back. “You live out back, right?”

“Oh, yeah, so I guess I’d technically be your neighbour. But I’m not noisy. I promise.” You place your hand over your heart.

“Uh-huh. It’s not you I’m worried about.”

That…sounds ominous. It sends a cold shiver running up your spine, and the hairs along your arms rise. But before you can ask whether any of his housemates are of the loud variety, he says, “Any time after ten AM, then?”

You nod slowly. “Except Mondays and Tuesdays,” you add.

“Nice,” is Sans’s only response.

You force a smile, though you haven’t quite managed to dispel the strange coldness on your skin, giving way to goosebumps. “Uh…I guess you –”

A loud thumping cuts you off, coming from the front door, and you become aware of muffled voices from the porch. You strain your ears to understand what’s being said…it sounds as though someone’s arguing. There are…quite a few people out there, snapping at each other.

They knock again impatiently, then they ring the doorbell. You weren’t expecting anyone else today.

You glance at Sans.

He’s followed your stare, but he doesn’t seem surprised by the unexpected guests. In fact, it looks as though _he_ was the one expecting them – 

…

Surely not? 

You march towards the door and throw it open.

Something large and heavy comes crashing through the frame, and you stagger back with a yell.

Your tongue suddenly _burns_. It’s like your taste buds have been assaulted with a variety of scents; warm metal mixing with cold metal, bubble soap, the smell of a frigid breeze, and a subtle hint of damp wood. You catch flashes of red, blue, black, and white as the colourful mass tumbles to the floor, and hits the wooden panels with a chorus of loud _thumps_.

“You imbecile!” the mass shrieks.

“Owie!” another voice from the pile moans. “Get your elbow out of my ribs!”

“Get your ribs out of my elbow!”

“Ah-hah! I have succeeded in opening the door!”

“The door opened on it’s own, you fool. Probably because of your incessant hammering.”

You can only stare at the writhing pile of skeletons.

For a brief moment, you believe that these are Sans’s roommates, but you don’t want to assume that just because they’re skeletons, too. But when he chuckles behind you, it quickly becomes pretty clear that they are exactly who you think they are.

“I think she opened it, tiny,” another voice says from the porch, and you look up to find another skeleton lounging in the frame with his hands stuffed into the pockets of an orange hoodie, and staring at the struggling pile-on with obvious amusement.

He meets your eyes and winks. “Afternoon.”

You’re too stunned to summon your voice to reply.

“Shut up, you trog!” a gruff voice snaps from the pile.

You look down in time to see one of the skeletons untangle himself from the others – or, he doesn’t untangle himself so much as he falls ungracefully from the top of the pile, and hits the floor with a dull _thunk_. You hope that the fur-lined jacket he’s wearing cushioned his fall, somewhat.

You lean forwards and say, “A-are…you alright?”

The skeleton blinks up at you, and you balk at the sight of the row of sharp, crooked fangs across his face – skull, _damn_ – when he pulls them into a smile. A single, long, golden fang catches the light, and you can’t help but stare at it.

He opens his jaw, but before he can speak, the gruff voice spits, “Stop being so useless, you mongrel, and help me!”

The skeleton with the golden fang sighs, then sits up. “Comin’, m’lord.”

He reaches for a skeleton with a long, deep gash across his left socket, who is struggling to dislodge his arm from between the last of the skeletons, who are equally struggling to free themselves from each other, one donning a large blue scarf, and the other in red.

When the blue clothed skeleton catches your eye, he jolts with a loud _OH!_ and the scarred monster’s arm comes loose, and his elbow cracks against the forehead of his golden fanged rescuer.

He falls back with a shout, cupping his head with skeletal hands, and he curls up on the floor, moaning pitifully.

“Oh, shit!” you exclaim, staring forwards to help him, but your path is blocked by the monster donning the red scarf, successfully disentangled from the skeleton pile.

You stumble back – he’s enormous! Although perhaps it’s the large, white breastplate strapped to his torso that makes him look much bigger?

He’s taller than you by at least three heads…and he’s beaming down at you.

“I’m willing to dismiss your vulgarity as mere shock, human!” he cries with vigour. “Of course, it is understandable to be astounded when in the presence of such greatness!”

He lunges for you with a large, red gloved hand, and crushes your palm in a death grip, jerking your arm up and down in an overly enthusiastic handshake.

“So we shall start over!” he says. “I am the great Papyrus! You needn’t address me as such, however, for I already know how great I am. Papyrus is fine!”

“You…what…I…” Your mind can’t quite keep up with what’s happening. You’re still processing the fact that four skeletons just fell through your front door.

The monster named Papyrus releases your hand. “Ignore the rather abrupt entrance!” he says. “Not one of my greatest moments, I will admit…but we have decided to start over, so it doesn’t matter!”

That’s…not how it works, but he looks so sincere. You can only nod.

Your recently freed hand is recaptured once more, and you’re tugged down into a slight crouch to meet the eyes of the blue-clothed monster. Like his taller counterpart, his face is split into a huge grin that looks rather familiar…

“And I am willing to overlook your awful language too, human!” he says cheerfully. “I, the magnificent Sans, am quite forgiving of those who are stunned by my brilliance!”

 _Sans?_ They have the same name –?

Wait… That’s why he looks so familiar. You look back at…the other Sans for confirmation -he’s still as relaxed as ever, and merely shrugs when he meets your eyes. Are they twins?

… Can skeletons have twins?

“I…um…” You meet the wide, eager eyes of his doppelgänger, and he releases your abused hand.

“Ah! She is still overwhelmed by us!” he says to Papyrus. “Fear not, human. Great and magnificent though we are, you don’t need to be so intimidated by us!”

A loud scoff draws your attention to the front door. The scarred monster is brushing down his black jacket and straightening a red scarf of his own…

Your gaze darts between him and the Sans with the blue scarf – they look exactly alike, as well.

… Or could that be considered racist?

“She’s hardly intimidated,” he scowls. “There’s nothing intimidating about either of you, save for your shocking manners.”

The golden fanged monster is still curled up on the floor, groaning behind his hands. You want to go and see if he’s alright, but the monster clothed in the large orange hoodie steps over him, patting the scarred skeleton on the head as he passes.

“Nothin’ intimidating about you, either, tiny,” he says with a rasping chuckle – is he the smoker? It sounds as though he has a smoker’s voice.

The scarred monster violently bats his hand away, glaring daggers at him. “Don’t touch me, you filthy slob!”

You can’t help but disagree with the hoodie-clad skeleton – the scarred monster does look rather frightening with that glare of his.

“You got here quicker than I expected.” Sans’s voice surprises you, standing to your left.

 The hoodie-clad monster steps up to him and they bump bony fists. “Pappy got all excited when he saw your message and ended up gettin’ my bro worked up, too.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the scarred monster and the skeleton curled up on the floor beside him. “Then tiny over there wanted to tag along so he got fair pick of the rooms, and the dog goes where he goes, I guess.” 

Sans chuckles. “His Majesty not comin’?”

“Didn’t want to travel with the rabble,” the hoodie-clad monster says with a wry smile.

You inspect his face, because he looks rather familiar too. Imposingly tall, and teeth pulled into a more subdued grin than Papyrus –

He looks exactly like Papyrus.

“Hang on a second,” you say when the thought hits you. “Were you all just…waiting outside, or something?”

“So!” The blue-clothed Sans draws your attention. “Now that we are introduced, shall we begin with a tour? I would very much like to peruse my new home!”

“Yes, yes!” Papyrus hollers. “People as great as us must surely have an equally great house!”

You choke back a cry of indignation – of course your house is great! “Well…we could…start with the living room, if you’d like –”

“Wowie!” Papyrus exclaims, already marching through to the living room. “What a splendid abode! My head doesn’t even scrape the ceiling!”

The Sans with the blue scarf patters in after him – oh dear, that’s going to get confusing. You eye the enormous blue scarf around his neck…perhaps you should call him _Blue_.

“Stars, Pappy!” he cries uproariously. “Look at that kitchen!”

Blue sprints for the kitchen, and Papyrus thunders after him.

You’re stunned. “W-wait…” you call far too late. You want to follow them, but you can’t seem to command your legs to move, shell-shocked.

“I refuse to apologise on behalf of my uncouth doubles,” the scarred monster grumbles, joining Sans and the hoodie-clad monster by your side. “Their brothers are responsible for their poor manners, not I.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you from down there,” the hoodie-clad monster says. “Speak up, tiny.”

A snarl rips from the scarred monster’s throat and you flinch. The hairs along your arms vibrate, and your nostrils are filled with the smell of cold air.

The shiver…the goosebumps…the odd disturbance you felt in the air before you answered the door, and then the array of scents that staggered your senses… Was that _magic?_

The scarred monster looks far more menacing than Sans, with dagger-like teeth and that deep scar down the side of his face. “Do not talk down to me,” he threatens his taller companion.

The hoodie-clad monster’s grin widens, the solid bone of his skull pulling as easily as Sans’s had. “Can’t talk up to you, can I?”

He ignores the feral growl that Scar fires at him, and turns to you. “S’up? The name’s Papyrus.”

Seriously? They’re twins, too? And with the same names… How on earth are you supposed to keep track of them all?

It must be a monster thing. Maybe…

Like his twin, this Papyrus is rather tall, though without the breastplate to make him look as bulky, it’s like he’s been physically pulled and stretched to the impossible length that he is – you make a mental note to call him _Stretch_. Since the Papyrus with the red scarf had introduced himself to you first, you can’t think of any name for him other than Papyrus. It seems wrong to call him anything else. 

“It’s…nice to meet you.” You force a smile, but it quickly drops. They still haven’t answered your question – were they hovering on the porch the entire time you were talking to Sans? 

Before you can ask again, Stretch holds a hand out for you to take. “Don’t you know how to greet a new pal?” he rumbles.

You reach for his hand, but you stop just short of curling your fingers around his palm and glance at Sans.

He snickers, and Stretch sighs.

“Ah, you ruined it, didn’t you?” he whines. He raises his arm, and his sleeve falls down to expose…a rubber chicken. It’s strapped to the bones of his forearm by the neck with duct tape, and the body sits in the palm of his hand.

“What the heck?” you gasp.

“What? Too chicken to shake a skeleton’s hand?” Stretch winks and clenches his fist, squeezing a shrill, broken warble from the rubber toy.

He must be related to Sans in some way – though they look so different from one another, they’re so alike in personality, it’s uncanny. Perhaps Stretch is the brother Sans was talking about…?

“Gotta up your game, my friend,” Sans says, withdrawing his sabotaged hand from his pocket and squeezing the clown horn. “She’s already suspicious of fowl play.”

“Quit clownin’,” Stretch returns, crushing another clipped cry from the rubber chicken.

You groan, but there’s no real frustration in it. “Are you serious?”

“Nope,” Stretch says. “Papyrus.”

With a weak laugh, you rub your temples. “I’m so confused.”

“Nice to meet you, So-Confused,” Stretch says with a smile that screams mischief. “Shall I call you _So_ , or just _Confused_?”

You blink, then laugh again, cheeks warming. “Oh, I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

“You’re as ridiculous as they are,” Scar snaps at you.

Clearly Scar’s not a fan of jokes. You quieten your giggles and face him. “I’m sorry. It’s very nice to meet you all.”

Scar sneers, and your elation fizzles away.

“The first thing you should know,” he says, “is that you shouldn’t encourage them. Give them an inch, and they’ll take a mile.”

You have to fight back the urge to sigh. You’re surprised that he’s not carrying a _No Fun Allowed_ sign around his neck.

A loud _clang_ comes from the kitchen, followed by Blue shouting, “Oh my stars! Pappy, be careful!”

“Nyeh-heh,” Papyrus only chuckles.

 _Oh, hell…_ You should investigate, but before you can, you spot the golden-fanged monster, still in his motionless ball on the floor.

“Oh…is he alright?” you ask Scar.

Scar doesn’t even turn to inspect the seemingly unconscious monster when he says, “He’s fine. I suppose you are the homeowner?”

“Ah…yes,” you say slowly. You reach out to shake his hand, and you give him your name.

Scar eyes your hand as though you’ve just offered him a dead rat. “Yes, well…if I must.” He lifts a red gloved hand to accept yours. “Sans.”

… You would ask if he’s joking, if he didn’t seem to really hate them. _Scar_ it is.

Before you can close the distance, Stretch reaches around you and snatches Scar’s hand…and a loud squawk echoes through the entrance hall.

With a bark of fury, Scar rips the rubber chicken from Stretch’s arm, and the tall skeleton chuckles right next to your ear.

“Sorry, tiny,” he says, though he doesn’t sound sincere. “Didn’t mean to cock-block you.”

The laugh bursts from your mouth before you can stop it.

Scar glares at you, and there’s murderous intent in his eyes. Your laughter flees as quickly as it came when you catch the briefest flash of red in his wide sockets. The air around him is humming…it almost feels like the charged air of an approaching lightning storm. His fist, clutching the rubber toy in a death-grip, is shaking… 

“Duck,” you warn Stretch.

“Nope,” he says. “Chicken –”

Scar strikes him across the face with the stolen rubber toy, missing you by inches when you drop into a crouch. The wail that wheezes from the squeaker is pitiful, and only serves to coax more laughter from you.

“See to your idiot brothers before they wreck something!” Scar hisses to Stretch and Sans, throwing down the weaponised chicken, and it elicits one, final, defeated squeak. There’s a light colour staining his cheeks…oh, jeez, is he blushing? Skeletons can blush now?

“Oh, please,” Sans says through a yawn. “They’re fine. Papyrus just probably knocked his head on a lamp, or something.”

You relax. Yes, of course, the kitchen has metal lamps hanging from the ceiling. Naturally, someone of Papyrus’s incredible height wouldn’t be able to escape them.

You rise from your protective curl and turn to Stretch. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t appear affected by Scar’s little outburst. “Wow, you really do live up to your name, don’t you, So-Confused? My name’s Papyrus.”

Ah, that’s going to get very annoying _very_ quickly…but you can’t seem to stop smiling. 

“Is there anything I can get for you before we start the tour?” you ask. “A…drink, or…?”

“I’m good,” Stretch says.

“I don’t suppose you have any red wine?” Scar grumbles. “I need an entire bottle after today.”

“I have some whiskey?” you offer. Delving into your grandfather’s stash is supposed to be for emergencies only – the can’t-find-enough-tenants-and-may-lose-the-house kind of emergencies – but if it warms Scar to you any more, then it’s definitely called for.

But Scar’s scowl twists further into something rather unpleasant. “Never mind,” he says. “Thank you.”

“Ah, okay…” You clear your throat. “Shall we go to the kitchen and do a head count?”

Sans and Stretch lumber through the living room. As they do, Stretch studies the room as intently as Sans had, eyeing the couches surrounding the TV for the longest time. Scar follows them once they’re a safe distance ahead, mumbling under his breath.

You’re about to join them, when you remember the golden-fanged monster. With hesitant steps, you approach his balled-up, groaning form.

“I’m so sorry!” you say in a hushed voice, “I didn’t mean to ignore you –”

He’s very still. And he’s not groaning in pain…he’s snoring.

 … He’s asleep.

“Um…” You’re not quite sure what to say.

“I’m up,” he mumbles.

“Are you alright?” you ask as he slowly unfolds from his ball. You inspect his face for any bruises…or perhaps a small fracture, since bone can’t technically bruise. But if it can blush, maybe it can?

“Hm?” The monster blinks. “Yeah. Power nap.”

“I’ll say,” you mutter.

That makes the monster chuckle; a low throaty noise that sounds as though he’s a smoker, too. Like every face that has passed through your front door, his also looks shockingly familiar – the only thing that throws you is the large golden fang…

“Where’d everyone go?” he asks, gazing about the room.

“We’re about to do a headcount in the kitchen,” you say, offering a hand to help him up. “Come on.”

The monster accepts your hand, and when he stands he dwarfs you by several heads – he’s perhaps the most intimidating looking of the skeleton ensemble by appearance alone, with his overwhelming height and fierce row of fangs – Scar comes in close second, with his frightening red gaze and domineering aura, followed by Sans…for some odd reason.

Taking care to control your nerves so you voice doesn’t shake, you give him your name.

“Nice,” he rasps. “Name’s Papyrus.”

You blink. Then you laugh nervously. “It’s not…”

The monster’s quirks a brow. “No?”

You bite your tongue, cheeks warming. “I’m sorry…that was rude…”

“Noticed the trend, huh?” the monster says with another chuckle.

At least he’s aware of the weirdness of it all. The others acted like it was nothing worthy of addressing. This Papyrus is very much like Stretch; less bulky-looking than Papyrus, but dressed in rather tight fitting clothes that make him look much skinnier than his doubles.

“Yeah,” you say, rubbing the back of your neck. “Can I ask what that’s about?” 

The slim monster opens his mouth to answer, but becomes distracted by the door. Before you can ask what’s wrong, a shiver rocks down your spine, and you can smell burning…

The monsters may have begun testing out the appliances in the kitchen…staring with the stove? Though it doesn’t smell of burning gas; it smells like burning wood.

Have your potential tenants already set fire to your house?

“Oh, boy…” Slim says, eyes still on the door.

“What –?” But you’re cut off by a shrill voice coming from the porch.

“– absolutely ridiculous! It’s called being fashionably late! Once a time is arranged, I always endeavour to arrive on the dot! It was _you_ dragging your feet that held us up!”

“You sure, boss? Pretty sure it was you polishin’ your belt that made us late –”

“ _Fashionably_ late! And first impressions determine everything! If I am to strike fear into the hearts of humans, I must look every bit as terrifying as I am terrible!”

“We’re meeting in the kitchen, right?” Slim asks you, already making his way towards the living room.

“What’s your belt got to do with lookin’ scary?” one of the voices behind the door asks.

There’s a dull _thunk_ , followed by the shrill voice saying, “Slovenliness does not instil fear!”

You’re already too frightened to open the door. Why on earth would anyone want to intentionally look scary? It can’t be good for making friends…unless whoever’s behind the door doesn’t want to make any.

They must be desperate for a home if they’re willing to bunk with seven other people…six of them monsters.

You _really_ don’t want to open that door, but you’re given no choice when those behind it knock – even their _knocking_ sounds scary.

Swallowing the lump of fear growing in your throat, you answer the summons.   

If you thought that Slim looked intimidating, then this new monster looks like the Devil himself abandoned his skin.

And stopped by Hot Topic on his way over.

“Finally!” the giant skeleton snaps. “Just how long were you intending to make me wait, human?”

Terrifying though he is, he speaks as though he’s been caught off guard. You may have answered the door too quickly…

“I’m sorry,” you say faintly – this skeleton is like a harder version of Papyrus, all jagged edges. There’s a deep gash down his left socket that’s awfully similar to Scar’s, but he’s much more like Slim in stature, fangs and all, minus the golden tooth. “You must be…Papyrus?”

The skeleton balks, and your heart drops into your gut. Naturally, the minute you make assumptions, you are entirely wrong – you only assumed that it must have been his name since every skeleton that has walked into your house has been called either Papyrus or Sans.

“I’m –”

But the monster cuts you off. “My dreadful reputation precedes me! Yes, I am Papyrus, the great and terrible! Remember that, human, and I may be inclined to be somewhat courteous towards you!”

He barges through the frame without preamble, forcing you to stagger back so he can’t trample you. “Now, show me to my room!”

This monster certainly rivals Papyrus – and Blue, for that matter – in pride of one's own self, but while their egotism seems harmless, this Papyrus appears to have a tendency to…pontificate. And Scar is a little more subtle with his arrogance - he understands manners, at least.

“I…well, we haven’t figured out rooms yet,” you say. “We’re about to start the tour.”

The monster scoffs. “Then let’s get to it! I’ve already wasted enough time as it is!”

He strides for the stairs, but you quickly jump in his path. He jerks back, clearly not expecting you to throw yourself in his way, and he snarls. “How dare –”

“Everyone’s in the kitchen,” you say firmly. “I want to do a headcount before we start.”

The monster flounders, his jaw opening and closing like a fish – it’s then that you notice what’s behind his fangs.

Nothing.

There’s just…nothing. You should be able to see his spine through the hollow gap, but there’s just blackness…like a void.

“Well…” he splutters, but he quickly regains his composure. “Then…take me there! If I must compete with my insufferable clones, then so be it! The great and terrible Papyrus will triumph regardless!”

You’re not quite sure which part of the tour he considers a competition, but you only nod, already exhausted by his overbearing presence.

You point over your shoulder. “The kitchen is just through the –” 

Like his doubles, he’s already striding through the living room with long, even steps, his nasal cavity upturned.

It takes mere seconds for the shouting to start.

“All rise for the Supreme Edge-Lord,” Stretch says.

“Keep that ash-filled mouth of yours shut before you find my fist in it!”

“Oh, good! You did come!” Papyrus observes cheerfully. “Though you are a little late –”

“ _Fashionably_ late! And do not speak to me, ingrate!”

The dim mumble of voices that once floated from the kitchen dissolves into a full-blown racket. You take a deep breath. Every house has a problem child, you assure yourself. Nothing you can’t handle –

“Heh, you’re pretty tiny, ain’t ya?”

The deep voice at your back startles you, and you leap away from it – you recognise it as the second voice you heard on the front porch. Behind you is another skeleton. Another Sans…

Except this one doesn’t look nearly as friendly, dressed in harsh red and black, with a gleaming golden fang in a row of small but deadly looking teeth. There’s a deep crack along the top of his skull, and a…dog collar around his throat.

He’s smiling, and not in a pleasant nice-to-meet-you kind of way – it’s more like a I-could-eat-you-for-breakfast kind of way.

You frown. Perhaps the recently arrived Papyrus has ruffled your feathers somewhat, because you answer the new Sans with a short, clipped, “No much shorter than you.”

His smile drops, and something flashes dangerously in his eyes. “Touché,” he grumbles.

“I’m sorry,” you say sincerely. You can’t let your foul mood turn potential tenants away. “I didn’t mean to be so rude. I take it you’re Sans?”

“Unfortunately, not the one and only,” he growls. “The others filled ya in, huh?”

“I guess they did,” you reply. “Please, come on through.”

You sidle past the red Sans to close the front door, and he watches you critically all the while. It’s as though he’s searching for something…like he’s expecting you to whip out a knife and gut him.

You want to assure him that not only is there nothing on him to gut, but that you’re definitely not a serial killer. But isn’t that the kind of thing that a serial killer would say?

You settle for giving him your name to put him at ease.

It doesn’t work. Red remains tense, but he smiles that disturbing smile again.

“So…” he says. “You own this place, huh?”

“Yes,” you say. “I grew up here.”

Red peers up the stairs. “Looks haunted as fuck.”

You can’t hold back the laugh – hearing such a thing from your colleagues was borderline rude, but hearing it coming from a _skeleton_ is hilarious.

“I’ve been told,” you say. “You guys will fit right in.”

Red frowns. “Say what –?”

“ _Sans!_ ” the shrill skeleton shrieks from the kitchen. “Get in here, you slob!”

Red sighs. “Comin’, boss.”

 _Boss_ … It’s as good a name as any. Though you rather liked Stretch’s _Edge-Lord_ comment, but calling a tenant an Edge-Lord probably isn’t wise…

After taking a moment to compose yourself, you follow Red into the kitchen to join the rest of your guests.

Papyrus is inspecting the stove and ovens, assessing it’s size and shape, while Blue studies the fridge. They fire observations back and forth between each other, each new comment sounding more excited than the last. 

Scar is sitting at the table with Slim – the former with a deep frown on his face, the latter who is asleep again, his head pillowed by his arms – and Stretch, who looks as though he’s half asleep himself. The only thing keeping him awake is Boss, prodding him in the shoulder to ensure that he’s listening to his griping.

Red stands as far away from the ruckus as he can get, lingering in the doorway, and Sans oversees the entire debacle from the backdoor, looking rather calm despite the chaos.    

A house full of skeletons…

Yeah, you should _really_ get that doormat now.

Perhaps...you are in over your head?

You shake yourself furiously. No, you're going to do a wonderful job! You know that playing landlady to so many monsters is going to challenge you, and there are certainly those who you know are going to _really_ test you from time to time – but you'll pull through.

You cannot give up just yet.

You can definitely handle this.

You have to retain your integrity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bbys first fic im so sorry - i didn't mean for the prologue to be so long :(
> 
> but thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> btw i have a [tumblr](https://cocofinny.tumblr.com/) where i post art and stuff  
> 


	2. PART I: NEW HOME - And in the dark, dark house...some skeletons lived

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the tour of Ebott’s soon-to-be most haunted house commences…
> 
> Warnings for chapter: Strong language, mild verbal abuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for all the lovely comments on the first chapter! wow, i really wasn't expecting such kind feedback, or so many kudos! i was going to wait to post this, since i want to make sure that im a chapter ahead of myself, but i wanted to get it published before the weekend because im going awaaaay!  
> hey hey if you want to check out [my tumblr](https://cocofinny.tumblr.com/) if ya have any questions or just wanna talk thatd be swell :)

PART I

New Home

-

_If you see a faded sign on the side of the road,_

_That says fifteen miles to the –_

_Loooooove Shack!_

-

-Chapter One-

-

 

After your third failed attempt to get everyone’s attention, a stress headache begins to develop in your temples.

Papyrus and Blue were so enamoured with your kitchen appliances that you had to stop the latter from climbing into the oven to gauge just how much one could cook in it. Then Red convinced him to keep trying, and _the Magnificent Sans never backs down from a challenge,_ apparently. Thankfully, you pointing out that he may get grease on his lovely scarf deterred him – though he did blithely mention how an unclean oven was in no way acceptable to cook with, and offered to clean it.

He looked so sincere that you couldn’t even try to act offended. 

Papyrus kept hitting his head on the hanging lamps in his excitement, so getting him to just stand still was an effort worthy of a medal. Managing to talk over Boss ruthlessly scolding him, however, was worthy of all the Nobel Peace Prizes in the world.

Trying desperately to ignore the dull ache that’s building behind your eyes, you do one final headcount – all eight tenants are present.

“Okay!” you shout over Blue and Papyrus’s excited chatter, and Boss, who has resorted to shrieking in poor Stretch’s ear – or lack thereof. “Can I…can everyone listen, _please?_ ”

“I have already chosen the perfect dish to prepare as my first meal in my new home!” Papyrus announces to the room, pointing to the stove.

“Two great heads are better than one!” Blue tells him. “I shall assist, and it will be twice as great! Magnificent, even! And it will be my first meal, too!”

“Ah-hah!” Papyrus cries. “Yes, of course! And not only would it be _my_ first meal, but my first meal that I will have prepared for a friend!”

“Mine, too!” Blue practically screams with delight.

Their eagerness is adorable, but do they have to be so loud? You glance at Sans – you really are going to have some noisy neighbours…

He catches your eye, and he clearly understands the meaning in your stare, but only shrugs.

“S’not my fault tardiness gives me a nervous tick,” Stretch is saying to Boss, who is now holding him by the collar.

“Is your head so full of smoke that you can’t read?” Boss snaps. “The message clearly said that we could arrive at any time after ten! There was no set time, nor was there a deadline. Therefore, I was not late!”

“When did I say anything about you bein’ late?” Stretch asks, his eyes drifting closed. “Papyrus was the one who said it, not me…”

“ _Which_ Papyrus?” Boss spits.

“Uhh…” Stretch’s grin twitches. “The one who wasn’t late.”

Boss makes a screeching sound unlike anything you’ve ever heard – it has the same effect on you as nails on a chalkboard does.

Across from Stretch, Scar scowls. “The fact that you encourage him,” he tells the hoodie-clad skeleton, “only makes you more deserving of his ire.”

“Quoth the raven,” Stretch says, poorly imitating a haughty accent, “I’ve never cared more for your advice than I did three seconds ago. That is, to say, I never cared for it.”

“I…um…” you try again, but all present seem too absorbed in their own conversations to take any notice of you.

You look to Red for some assistance, but he’s engrossed in watching Boss tear into Stretch with a mixture of amusement and apprehension in his eyes.

“So,” a voice to your left says, “wanna talk rooms?”

Sans has joined you, and he’s waiting patiently, adopting a relaxed posture with his hands shoved into his pockets.

You glance back at the commotion around the table. “I was hoping to talk to everyone about them,” you say sadly.

Sans shakes his head. “Nah, just tell us.” He gestures to Red, who grumbles in assent, then waves a dismissive hand towards the bickering skeletons. “They’ll join in when they’re ready.”

“Alright…” You back up so you can address both monsters. “Well, there are three floors…four if you count the attic. You’ve pretty much seen the communal rooms, and part of the back porch has been remodelled into a conservatory.”

“Pretty sweet,” Red notes, looking back into the living room. “You got a TV licence, or what?”

“Over one-thousand channels available to you at the click of a button,” you affirm. “And there’s still nothing to watch.”

Red chuckles. “Wise ass, eh? I like that.” 

He seems a little more relaxed with you now than he did in the entrance hall, and you smile. “One half of the house is brick…” You gesture around the kitchen. “…so it’ll be warmer in the rooms overlooking the back yard during the summers and colder during the winters.”

Red snorts. “How’d you lose half your house?”

“Well, technically only the kitchen and part of the lower floor is brick…” you say. “My great-grandfather bought it at an auction, so we don’t know what actually happened to the house, but we think that maybe it was taken out by a tornado some years before he moved in, and remodelled with wood and plaster.”

Red’s brows knit together, and tension returns to his shoulders. “A tornado, huh? You get a lot of those?”

“Nope,” you say. “Extreme weather is rare around here.” Should you mention the storm? But that wasn’t exactly extreme weather – all it did was blow loose a few bug screens.

You decide not to comment on it. “There are three bedrooms on this floor, including the one in the basement.” You happen to look up, and notice Stretch watching you with sleepy eyes while Boss continues to harass him. Scar is also paying close attention to you, and even Slim has cracked one eye open to listen in.

“Uh…” You clear your throat. “The next floor has three rooms, too, and the main bathroom. Third floor has only two rooms and a smaller bathroom. I understand that those living on the ground floor may have trouble finding an opportunity to use them, but I wasn’t able to get planning permission to add an additional bathroom to the…”

You trail off at the strange twist to Sans’s grin, and then it hits you: would a skeleton even need to use a bathroom?

“I mean…” you hasten to add, “…they have showers! Power showers...”

“Good save, kid,” Sans says.

“Wowie!” Blue’s voice startles you, and you stumble back into the nearest wall when you find that he and Papyrus have joined the conversation, and are right up into your space. “ _Two_ bathrooms? Pappy, now we don’t need to share!”

“Nyeh-heh! What a relief!” Papyrus cries. “You really have helped us out of a particularly pitiful pickle, human! Sansy and I have very precise times in which we like to bathe!”

“We have to flip a coin to determine who showers first!” Blue chimes in.

“I win quite a lot!” Papyrus remarks. “I must be naturally very good at games of chance!”

You want to point out that games of chance require absolutely no skill whatsoever, but you bite your tongue when Papyrus beams down at Blue, and you catch a faint blush darkening the mini skeleton’s cheeks when he returns his brother’s smile. Oh…that’s actually rather cute…

“And some of us would waste all of the hot water,” Scar grumbles with a poignant look at Boss.

“Cold showers are proven to be far more beneficial to one’s health!” Boss snipes.

“And look who’s talkin’, shorty,” Red adds in a snarl.

“I would say the same to you,” Scar remarks, carefully eying Red up and down with a sneer. "And _you_ ," he glares at Boss, "only waste it so that  _I_ can't use it!"

“I should butt in here and say,” Sans says to you in a hushed voice, “we function pretty well in hot and cold. It doesn’t bother us.” He raps a knuckle against the side of his skull. “No skin.”

“Ah, well, you’ll save on your gas bill, then,” you say. “I shouldn’t have bothered with the boiler.”

Stretch laughs. “Oh-ho, I wouldn’t say that. Tiny would burn any skin he had right off his bones with how hot his showers are.”

Scar snarls in response to the jibe.

“So, what _about_ bills?” Blue asks. “I know they’re included in the rent, but…?”

“There’s a cap on them,” you say, “except internet. That’s on a monthly plan for the whole house. If you guys happen to go over the cap limit, then you’ve got to pay the extra. You all have stable income, right?”

Slim smirks, side-eyeing Boss. “Yeah…some of us do.”

Boss responds by thumping him upside the head.

“I know it’s a personal question,” you admit, “but first payment needs to be made upfront…”

“I get odd jobs, here and there,” Stretch mumbles.

“I do!” Blue and Papyrus holler simultaneously, beaming from metaphorical ear to metaphorical ear.

Hardly fazed by Boss’s strike, Slim props himself up on one arm and eyes your laptop. “What’s the Wi-Fi like?”

“Fibre optic,” you say. “Router’s in the middle floor, and there’s a booster on the third floor and just through there.” You gesture through the second kitchen archway on the other side of the kitchen, opening up to the hallway. The internet was never good in the house when you were growing up because it was so big, though you were the only one who ever used it – your grandparents only installed a router because you asked them to.

And you had to pay for it…

“Ah, yes!” Papyrus says. “I must regularly attend to my many friends on the internet! I am very popular there, you see!”

“As am I!” Blue adds, his chest puffed out with pride. “We dominate the chat rooms!”

You have no doubt that they do. “Speaking of chat rooms,” you say, “I didn’t install a phone or anything, though I can if it’s going to be a problem?”

In tandem, each skeleton withdraws a cell phone from his pocket.

“We’re all covered,” Sans says.

Each phone looks as though it’s been plucked from a different era; Sans’s and Red’s phones are quite simple, with a blocky keypad, clearly used for nothing more than their original purposes of calling and texting. Stretch and Scar each own a phone that look only a decade or so old, but Papyrus and Blue seem to have the most up-to-date models, touch-screen and all.

The only person who doesn’t seem to possess a phone is Boss. He remains perfectly still, arms crossed, and determinedly avoiding making eye contact. But when he gets tired of your staring, he snaps, “What? Like I would _need_ one of those ridiculous things!”  

“Human!” Blue cries as though struck by the most wonderful idea. “If you have a cell phone too, then I shall give you my number! If we are to live here, then you will need to be able to reach me quickly!” 

“And I shall give you mine!” Papyrus says, equally as excited. “You would surely benefit from having such fast access to someone as great as me!”

“Ah, we can get to that later,” you say as kindly as you can. “We should really begin with the tour before you decide anything…”  

Papyrus and Blue nod in understanding, but do so with such enthusiasm you’re frightened that they’re going to break their necks.

“And I’m only next door,” you tell them. “So if you do need anything, you only have to come on over.”

“We’re going to be neighbours?” Blue’s impossibly wide smile grows even wider.

“If you like the look of the rooms,” you prompt, “then yeah, we will be.”

You happen to catch Stretch’s eye over Blue’s head, and he’s watching you with a strange expression. Though there’s no malicious intent in his eyes, you feel as though you’re being…judged.     

Before you can make sense of it, Blue captures your hand and pulls you down – you have to curl over to save your poor arm from being ripped right out of its socket.

“How wonderful!” he squeals, squeezing you hand so hard you’re certain that your bones are bending from the pressure. “Where shall we start, then?”

“Well, we can start with the basement –”

“To the basement!” Papyrus and Blue shout in tandem, and Blue releases you to jog after Papyrus, who darts from the kitchen, laughing all the way.

Boss snarls and marches after them. “Halt, you heathens! You don’t even know where the basement is!”

He catches them in the entrance hall, and launches into a loud, lengthy scolding. To their credit, Papyrus and Blue sound rather jovial, countering Boss’s jibes with pleasant rebuttals.

“Ya lookin’ a little wrung out, there,” Red says to you with a deep chuckle, eyeing your hand.

You release a long breath, and your temples throb as if in warning. “I wish I had their energy,” you say. “How do they have so much of it?”

“It’s a mystery,” Sans says with a wink.

“Can we get on with this?” Scar says, massaging his brow in irritation. “I’m not sure how much more I can take.”

“Right…” you say, and point to the second archway on the other side of the kitchen. “Basement’s this way.” 

“Someone’d better tell the cool patrol,” Stretch comments, jerking a thumb in the direction of all the shouting. “And Edge-Lord.”

Red bares his deadly fangs at Stretch and growls; a low, dangerous sound that rumbles from deep within his chest.

It unnerves you, and you take a cautious step back…but when Sans glances at you curiously, you force a reassuring smile, attempting to disguise your retreat as an offer to fetch his brothers . “I can –”

You pause when Scar rises from his seat and glares at you. “Don’t bother.” He passes Slim – who is, miraculously, asleep again – and roughly thumps him on the head. “Fetch the numbskulls.”

Slim’s answer of: “Yes, m’lord,” is muffled by the sleeves of his jacket, but he doesn’t move.

“Careful who ya call numbskull,” Red warns Scar with a terrifying look. “Numbskull.”

“I’m hurt,” Scar remarks coolly.

Red’s glare intensifies – his right socket flashes scarlet.

Your nostrils are filled with the smell of burning paper, mixed with a bitter, icy wind. It’s a bizarre combination, but it makes the hairs along your arms stand on end, and the air becomes electric…alive with magic.

“Hey, let’s get to that basement!” you blurt, desperate to abort a magic-fuelled fight before it can begin – though the sturdy, solid kitchen walls may withstand any magical attacks the skeletons throw at each other, they could very easily ruin your pristine paint job by repeatedly smacking their skulls against the brickwork.

“Fine,” Red grunts.

“Very well,” Scar hisses.

With a soft snort, Slim manages to peel himself off of your table and staggers out of the kitchen to fetch the shouting skeletons from the entrance hall.

You relax, but only slightly. Red is glaring at Scar as though he wants to launch for his skinny throat; Scar is studying the crack in Red’s skull, like he’s calculating just how hard a blow it would take to split his head in two.

Moments later, Blue comes bounding back into the kitchen with Papyrus close behind.

“What happened?” Papyrus demands. “I heard something about a fight!”

He looks far too eager at the prospect for comfort. Blue looks very much the same, wide, keen eyes darting between Stretch and Sans.   

You want to ask them, only so they can deny it; surely these two sweethearts detest the idea of fighting, rather than encourage it?    

“Sorry folks,” Stretch tells them. “The long awaited match between His Tininess and Short-Stack Snarls-A-Lot has been postponed.”

Blue deflates. “But I wanted to see how they both attack! They refuse to train me, so I must learn by observing! That’s what Alphys said I should do! Watch, but don’t participate!”

… That sounds awfully similar to something you once said to one of the children at your school – albeit under very different circumstances. He was watching some teens skateboarding beyond the fence surrounding the school yard, and wanted to join them. His mother would have demanded the school for your head had you let her six-year-old child anywhere near unknown teenagers, or a skateboard…but he really wanted to learn, so you told him that he could watch and learn through observation.

Perhaps this Alphys was employing a similar tactic. You can’t imagine Blue engaging in combat with anyone...but he’s definitely got the strength to put up a good fight. He _and_ Papyrus are abnormally strong, considering they have no muscles.

You idly massage your abused hand. It must have something to do with their magic…    

“Better luck next time, bro,” Sans says to Papyrus, who looks crestfallen.

Luckily, Blue is on call to distract him, and he drags Papyrus to one side, dissolving into lively chatter about battle tactics and formations. Perhaps you were mistaken; is it for a table-top game? Or…are they really being serious?

Before you can contemplate it further, Boss strides into the room, storming between Scar and Red, breaking their penetrating eye contact by firing a terrifying glare of his own on the latter.

“Cease your pathetic posturing, you worthless cretin!” he screeches. “I’ll not have you affect the human’s judgement!”

You’re heartrate picks up. Boss sounds _furious_.

“Honestly, it’s just pitiful!” he continues, arms raised ready to strike should he decide to. “Watching you attempt to frighten and intimidate is embarrassing to my great and terrible self! Do you really want to embarrass me? _Do you?_ ”  

This fury is nothing like his frustration with Stretch and his relentless mockery – this is pure anger.

Red shrinks, ducking his head and averting his eyes to some spot on the floor. “No, boss. Sorry, boss…”

Boss snarls. “No? Did you brains leak out of that gash in your thick head? Did you really think that someone as cowardly as you could possibly imitate me? Now the human will think that I am nothing more than a joke! Because now she knows that I have to look after my idiot of a brother who thinks that he can mimic me!”

Each insult seems to cut deeper than the last, but Red takes it all silently, head down, staring at the floor, unseeing. His shoulders are trembling… Something large and gleaming slides down the side of his skull… Is he sweating?

You’re stomach drops into your gut. Though you barely know him, the urge to shield Red rises, unbidden. There will be no bullying under this roof, as long as you still own it!  

“Hey –” you call to Boss, but a hand on your arm stops you.

You glance down at the restraining hand, then meet Sans’s eyes – they’re rather tired.

He shakes his head, and speaks in a low voice. “Don’t. I get that your heart’s in the right place, but seriously…they have some weird dynamic between them that’s better left alone.”

Scar joins you, and he looks a little…guilty? “It’s best to just let them be. We’ve already tried.”

You glance back at Red – how are you supposed to ignore this? It’s terrible to watch…

Blue and Papyrus are not totally oblivious to Boss’s tantrum, but are they clearly attempting to ignore it as much as possible by muttering between themselves about what room they hope to end up with –

– but looking closely, it seems that Blue is actually working to keep Papyrus distracted – the taller skeleton’s body language suggests that he either wants to flee the kitchen, or intervene...    

Slim lounges in the doorway, eyes drooping despite the uproar before him, and Stretch has risen an inch from his seat, hard eyes trained on Red.

“Uh…” You clear your throat, and it gets Boss’s attention, freeing Red from his wrath. “Let me show you guys to the basement.” How many times have you said the word _basement_ in the last two minutes?

“Finally!” Boss snarls.

“Yes!” Blue and Papyrus cry, clapping.

You lead the way, re-evaluating some of your potential tenants. Of the bizarre ensemble, Red, Scar, and Boss are the big red flags; Red is a little crass, maybe even prone to confrontations every now and then, but he seems to keep to himself, so he may not be too much trouble to the other tenants; Boss, on the other hand, you thought of as mildly unpleasant, much like Scar…but after witnessing what can only be described as a verbal _slaughtering_ , you’re not so sure anymore.

Whatever relationship he has with Red, it’s certainly not your business. But for Boss to act in such a vile way when Red was clearly defending him from Scar…            

“You doin’ okay, there, kid?” Sans’s voice draws you from your dreary musings.

“Yes,” you assure him, but he doesn’t look convinced.

 _See how the rest of the tour goes_ , you tell yourself. You haven’t seen enough of the brothers to make snap judgements of them. It hasn’t even been an hour…

… Has it? It feels like it’s been years, already.

You’re already certain of one thing about Red, however: do not, under any circumstances, offend Boss in his presence.

And Boss: just…try not to ever make him angry.

-

To your shame, the basement still smells faintly of shoe polish.

And the brothers notice.

“Gotta say,” Sans tells you, “it’s sure got sole.”

Stretch sucks in a breath through clenched teeth. “Need to polish up on those jokes of yours, buddy.”

“You both need to shut up!” Boss snaps.

“What?” Sans says to Stretch, blanking Boss completely. “When you’re given the opportunity to make a shoe pun, you just gotta run with it.”

“Please, stop,” Scar grumbles.

Even Papyrus and Blue are groaning.

“It’s as cosy as it can get,” you tell your guests. “And it’s perfect for those who like the quiet.” You point to the basement door leading to the side of the house. “A pretty nasty draft used to come through from there, but it’s been fixed up just fine. And it’s good for easy access in and out of the house, so whoever gets this room will obviously get a key for it. There are a couple of problems, though. You can’t hear the front door from here, and this door has no bell.”

“You get door-to-door salesmen, often?” Sans asks.

“Usually during the Christmas period. Maybe a couple of political groups.” You frown, and carefully study each of the brothers – they would certainly have no fans among the pro-human groups who make their rounds every few months. Such hate-groups seemed to have had just sprouted from the darkest, most bitter parts of Ebott overnight during the first year after the Barrier shattered. “Why? Would that bother you?”

“Heh…not us,” Slim rasps. “Them, maybe.”

You mentally picture the abject horror on a salesman’s face when a skeleton answers his inquiring knock in a house that looks, quote, unquote: _haunted as fuck_.

Trying to hold back giggles at the thought, you say, “You can always request deliveries to this door, too, if it’s easier. You just need to let the delivery guys know to go to the right of the house. And this room is opposite the boiler room. It’s not too noisy, or anything, but I know that some people don’t like living next to a boiler.”

“Oh?” Papyrus looks confused. “Why?”

“Well,” you say hesitantly, “people are always wary of gas leaks, and they don’t want to unknowingly inhale…gas…”

Your eyes dart between the skeletons before you – Sans, Stretch, Red, and Slim are wearing identical, knowing smiles, and Scar is scowling at you. Papyrus and Blue seem genuinely curious, and Boss isn’t paying attention. Or…he’s pretending to not pay attention – he’s definitely got one of those black sockets of his trained on you…

Oh. _Of course_ …no lungs…

But, jeez…if they can talk, eat, whistle, blush, and _sweat_ , then what-the-hell else are you supposed to think?

“I…ah…” You rub the back of your neck. “I take it that won’t be a problem for you guys?”

“What won’t be?” Papyrus asks, while the others merely shake their heads.

“Never mind,” you say, cheeks burning. “Uh…feel free to have a look around.”

Everyone seems reluctant to do so. It’s only mildly insulting, since you worked incredibly hard to remodel the basement from the pit it used to be into a bedroom – and you’re rather proud of what you’ve done; there’s space for a decently sized TV, even a computer in one half of the room; the bed’s been pushed up against a wall to unveil plenty of floor space; and you’ve fixed up the sink in the far corner for convenience.

“It’s very nice,” Papyrus says earnestly, “but…it’s a little dark for me.” Though he seems honest, he looks a little nervous. Is he afraid of insulting you?

“Yeah,” Blue adds. “A little…dark. But it looks nice!”

You survey the room; there’s a small window facing the front of the house that lets in a little natural light, and with a door of its own, the room can be aired out quite easily. But it does look a little dreary, and it can still get pretty dark as early as three in the afternoon most days. Are they afraid of the dark, perhaps?

“This is hardly befitting someone as great as myself!” Boss declares.

“I’ve lived underground long enough,” Scar mutters disdainfully.

Oh… _Oh, God_ … You hadn’t even thought of that. No monster would want to live underground after years spent trapped beneath it. Are you perhaps being a little insensitive?

But all it takes is for Slim to make one quick sweep of the room, and he nods, satisfied. “Dibs.”

That was fast… “Really?” you ask. “You don’t want to see the rest of the rooms?”

With a thoughtful hum, Slim meanders about the room, inspecting it’s size, the basement door, and the window. “Nah.” He grins at you. “I’ll be your monster in the basement.”

Scar chuckles cruelly. “How like you to de- _base_ yourself to living in a hole.”

The fact that Scar just cracked a joke – demeaning, or otherwise – makes you smile, and even manages to elicit a giggle.

He fixes his frightening glare on you, but it’s effect is ruined by a light pink hue blooming on his cheeks. Slim, meanwhile, takes the jab with dignity and only chuckles.

Stretch pats Scar on the head. “I knew you had it in you, tiny.”

“Do not touch me, you ash-ridden slob!” Scar spits, fiercely batting Stretch’s hand away.

“I mean, you can always change your mind,” you say to Slim.

“I say let him rot down here,” Boss growls.

You’re quick to talk over him before Slim can catch the insult. “Can I show you the utilities room?”

“Personally,” Scar says, “I wouldn’t bother. I can only think of three who would actually use it.”

You show it to them regardless, giving them a quick-fire guide on how to use the washing machines and dryers, and then give them a brief run-down of the boiler room.

“The fuse box for the entire house is down here, too,” you say, pointing to said box in the far corner of the small room. “And a back-up generator just in case of a blackout. Though they’re rare in these parts…unless we get another freak storm, you should be fine.”

There are nods of assent from Papyrus and Blue, however, an air of obvious discomfort settles about the rest of the brothers. Sans in particular looks uneasy, and Red’s brow is peppered with that strange sweat, but the others hide it rather well – Slim is practically asleep on his feet, and Scar is shaking his head at him, disapproving, while Boss continues to feign disinterest, and Stretch studies the boiler intently.

Oh, dear… Perhaps they’re still not used to the extreme weather since escaping the Underground? You can imagine how shocking it must be to the system when exposed to the fickle, and often powerful, elements after so many years sheltered from it. The thought didn’t occur to you when Red asked about the tornadoes – anyone would be frightened of a tornado, not just monsters.  

“If a storm does happen,” you placate them, “you just have to turn it on here.” You show them the main switch for the generator. “It should power the entire house.”

“It’s like a miniature CORE!” Blue says. “How clever!”

“Is…that a good thing?” you ask. What on earth is a CORE…?

“Oh, yes!” he replies. “It’s a very good thing!”

“The CORE powered the entire Underground!” Papyrus states proudly.

“Ah,” you say, relieved. “I suppose this one isn’t as impressive.”

“Well, no,” Papyrus says rather bluntly, “but it’s a fantastic piece of machinery, regardless, if such a small CORE can power a whole house! You should be very proud, human!”

Though they can sound indelicate, there’s something so pure about their honesty that you can’t not smile. “I can let the guys who built it know that they did a great job.” You then wink at Blue. “Magnificent, even.”

Blue’s eyes light up, and he huffs a triumphant _mweh-heh-heh!_ while Papyrus claps him on the shoulder with a huge, satisfied smile.

Oh, jeez…they’re too cute.

Someone scoffs…and you easily narrow it down to Boss, since he’s trying so hard to ignore you, and yet slides curious side-glances your way, as though he’s checking to see if you’ve noticed him not noticing you.

Red, on the other hand, is staring at you with clear confusion in his sockets, and with such intensity you think that perhaps you have something on your face.

But it’s meeting Sans’s eyes that has you tensing, catching his expression before he moulds it into a lazy grin – it was as though he was judging you, just like Stretch had done in the kitchen.

Do they not like you? Are you exuding any weird vibes that are unsettling them?

… You really hope not.

You hustle them back up the stairs into the house before you can stew in your gloomy thoughts for too long. They don’t need to like you, they just need to like the house.

“Take your time looking around,” you tell them. “If you have any questions…”

Papyrus and Blue are already off, investigating the closest room, which happens to be to the left of the stairs leading down to the basement. Scar and Boss march for the third room, closest to the front door, and Red and Slim trail after them, somewhat reluctantly.

Sans and Stretch seem in no hurry to scope out the rooms for themselves, and remain with you.

“So, uh…” Sans says, “I should probably clear a few things up. We’ve been living under the same roof for a while now, and we’re all a bit sick of each other.”

It was pretty obvious already, but you only nod.

“I think once we’ve got some space between us all,” Sans continues, “some of the guys will mellow out.”

“It may be best to have Boss and Red pretty far away from each other,” you muse quietly.

Stretch chuckles, a brow raised. “Who? You mean the Edge-Lord and Short-Stack?”

Your cheeks heat. “Um…it was easier to keep track…” Should you ask about their names again? It may very well be a monster-related custom, since it has become a well-known fact among the human populace that monsters are pretty terrible at naming things. A lot of monster customs are a little strange to you – even the origins of Christmas differ for monster-kind.

Perhaps asking may be too rude…perhaps by giving them nicknames, you’ve broken some kind of monster etiquette? You make a mental note to educate yourself on monster customs and traditions – you really don’t want to keep running the risk of accidentally offending your new tenants.

But Stretch doesn’t appear offended, wearing a lazy grin. “Don’t blame you.” His smile then turns sly. “Got a nickname for me?” 

You bite your tongue. Isn’t _stretch_ technically considered an insult?

“Uh, I dunno ‘bout separating them,” Sans interrupts you, scratching his jaw. “You can try, but… Heh… _Red_ seems pretty happy to follow his brother around.”

You wouldn’t exactly call that look on Red’s face in the kitchen _pretty happy_ – he seems terrified of his brother. “Maybe keeping them apart for a while will help them work out…whatever they’ve got going on between them?”

“Clocked the problem children already, huh?” Stretch asks, fumbling about for something in the pocket of his hoodie.

“Okay, but what the heck _was_ that?” you ask. “Back in the kitchen?”

Sans rubs a hand over his skull. “It’s…not really our place to say. But it’s not worth stressing over.”

… Was he in the same room as you during that fight? How could Sans not have seen how uncomfortable Red was?

Sans’s grin twitches when he sees the doubt that must be evident on your face. “Fine, don’t believe me,” he says, but not sternly. “Seriously, though…don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah,” Stretch adds, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Short-Stack will probably tell you if he wants to.”

Your grandfather did always say to respect people’s privacy…but your grandmother was a shameless gossip. “I just want you guys to feel comfortable here,” you say. “I mean, all _eight_ of you have been living in the same place for…”

Sans didn’t actually specify how long _a while_ was, but you can only assume that it means _since the Barrier shattered._ The make-shift shelters for the monsters have long since been emptied, but that didn’t mean that the monsters still didn’t struggle with housing, since many of them had rather specific requirements that needed to be met, such as extreme temperatures and appropriate spaces for their sizes…

You decide not to ask – that would be a little too nosy. “Honestly, I don’t want you all to have any more problems. If I can somehow help you settle in quicker, then I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Stretch chuckles and searches the pockets of his sweats. “What makes you think we have problems?”

“Um…I know it’s got nothing to do with me,” you say to him, “but you seem to have some beef with Scar.”

“Tiny? Nah, we’re cool.”

You frown. “He doesn’t seem to think so…oh…”

Stretch has withdrawn a pack of cigarettes from his sweats, and he’s already slipping one between his teeth.

“You can’t smoke in here,” you say resolutely. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to do that outside.”

Stretch’s brows lift, but he shrugs. “Sure thing, chief.” He returns the cigarette to the pack, and slips it into his pocket.

“Thank you,” you sigh. You had honestly expected to face some kind of resistance, or the it’s-going-to-be-my-house-so-I-can-do-what-I-want argument, but thankfully, it seems that Stretch isn’t the type to argue over trivial things.

“Better tell the dog, then,” he tells you. “He’s always got a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.”

 _The dog?_ The only other skeleton you can think of that smokes is Slim, based on the rasp of his voice.

Before you can contemplate the thought further, Papyrus and Blue exit the nearest room, beaming.

“It’s a very nice room!” Blue tells you. “I don’t think my room was ever as big as that one! And there’s a door that leads right outside. Very convenient!”

“Oh, yeah,” you say. “There’s easy access to the back porch.” You then turn to Stretch, struck with inspiration. “If you’d like, you can always take it? You can smoke out on the porch.”

Stretch hums thoughtfully and investigates the room, and you follow. He takes his time, his gaze alternating between the bed, the ceiling, and the set of glass doors that open up to the back porch. He lifts an arm, and even when holding it out straight, his fingertips only just skim along the ceiling.

“Pretty spacious,” he comments airily.

“The rooms down here were the dining room” you explain, “but as you can see, they’ve been converted into two rooms of their own.”

“Ah, that’s why it’s so big!” Papyrus says, hovering in the door. “My head doesn’t hit the ceiling in there, either!”

Wherever the brothers lived before, it must have been uncomfortably small for Papyrus to keep mentioning the fact that his skull barely comes close to skimming the ceilings… “I’m glad you like it,” you say, returning Papyrus’s smile.

“Nyeh-heh! But…” He cups his chin with one hand and hums to himself. “…I would much prefer a room upstairs. Only if that’s okay!” he quickly adds.  

You nod. “Sure it is. Most people do.”

Papyrus’s expression brightens, relieved. “Can we go upstairs now?”

“Uhh…” You rub the back of your neck – Papyrus and Blue are practically dancing on their toes with excitement. “We should really wait for the others. They haven’t seen this room yet.”

“I’ll fetch them!” Blue declares, and vanishes.

With a gleeful _nyeh-heh-heh,_ Papyrus turns to dart after him.

“Maybe take it a little slow, buddy,” Sans tells him – though he sounds aloof, he looks a little wary. “Everyone’s kinda on edge, today.” 

Papyrus pauses…then _frowns._ It’s so surreal to see anything other than a genuine smile on his face.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” he snaps at Sans.

Wow…for a moment there, it was like he’d somehow channelled Boss.  

But his frown is quickly replaced by his usual smile. “Not only am I, the great Papyrus, a friend to all, but I am also a very responsible brother! And I am always in-tune to the feelings of my friends and my dear, estranged family! Everyone is only excited, that’s all!”

With another triumphant laugh, he scarpers after Blue.

“Whatever you say, bro,” Sans calls to him, his grin twitching wider.  

Stretch recaptures your attention by asking, “Does this room get a lot of sun?”

“Not really,” you say. “The porch kind of shields you. And the room faces the south, so you’ll only get a little bit of sun in the late afternoons.”

Stretch studies the curtains framing the door to the porch, testing their thickness, and peers out into the back yard.

“I can always install blinds, too?” you suggest.

Stretch shrugs. “Doesn’t bother me. S’long as there’s a place for a TV.”

“You can set up a TV in every room,” you assure him.

Stretch claps a hand to his forehead and sighs dramatically. “It’s like a dream come true.”

“I take it you have to share everything at home?” you ask with a smirk.  

“ _Everything_ ,” Sans and Stretch say together, each with the same, deadpan tone.

You leave the room – with Sans and Stretch following some distance behind you – and find the rest of the brothers already congregating in the entrance hall, at the foot of the stairs. And, unsurprisingly, they are arguing.

“Get within three feet of me again,” Boss is snarling at Blue, “and I’ll smack that stupid grin right off of your face! The great and terrible Papyrus moves at his own pace! He hurries, nor waits for no-one!”

“Oh, but you can’t do that!” Blue counters, either oblivious to the hostility in Boss’s voice, or bravely ignoring it. “Then how will you get anywhere?”

Red is watching the spectacle from a safe distance, but doesn’t appear to see Blue as a threat to his brother – if anything, he’s watching Blue counter Boss’s vicious jabs with what looks like amusement, mixed with jealousy.

“You know what I meant!” Boss snaps, and marches for the stairs.

“But we must wait for the human!” Papyrus tells him.

Boss whirls on him. “Stop ordering me about, you poor imitation of my greatness!”

“Imitation? Oh, no!” Papyrus says cheerfully, placing a hand over his chest. “This great Papyrus is in a league of his own!”

Scar has chosen to remain out of the scuffle as well, watching it with clear displeasure. Slim is close by him, slumped against the nearest wall, half asleep.  

You want to ask whether or not he needs to lie down for a moment, but Boss spots you, pinning you with his stare, and you fight the urge to flinch under his hollow, black gaze.

“Human!” he barks. “These rooms are unfit for someone such as me! I refuse to live on the ground floor like some kind of commoner!”

“I take it you’re all done down here?” you say, ears ringing from the volume of his voice. You gesture to the upper floor. “Then go on up.”

With a huff, Boss storms up the stairs, and Blue and Papyrus eagerly clamber after him.

“Why do I have a feeling this won’t go as smoothly as I’d hoped?” you say to Sans.

“Because it won’t,” he says with a chuckle. “Some of us have pretty high standards.”

“Go figure,” you say faintly. Of course, you’d had the sneaking suspicion that this was all too good to be true… You may have found eight tenants in the space of a single day, but they consist of some of the worst tenants you could have imagined.

“Impossible to please, is probably more like it,” Stretch adds, then follows his brothers up the stairs. He flashes Red a wink. “Aint that right, Short-Stack?”

Red growls. “Mind your own damn business. Ain’t my fault the boss like his comforts.”

After answering your inquiring look with a shrug, Sans joins Stretch. After waiting for them to clear the stairs, Scar ascends next with controlled, measured steps, and Slim staggers after him, swaying as though drunk.

You catch Red before he can follow them. “Hey, um…if you have a preference for rooms, you can tell me.”

Red doggedly eyes you, his cautious gaze travelling up and down your body. “Why?”

You’re probably overstepping, so you decide to back off. “Just…if it helps.”

Red’s frown deepens. “Helps what?”

“Like…” Your cheeks are burning. Whatever abuse seems to occur between him and Boss, it doesn’t seem to bother Red enough to consciously worry him, or strike him as anything to be worried about.   

You clear your throat. “I don’t want to get involved in things that are clearly not my business, but if there’s anything that I can do to make…moving in easier, then you can ask me.”

It’s as though Red is stripping you bear with his glare, searching for any hidden meaning to your words. His suspicion is a little hurtful, but there’s obviously something inside his head that associates you with danger, pinning you with a _PROCEED WITH CAUTION_ sign.

Is it because of what you said to him before? Calling him short? Well… _he_ called you short first, and you refuse to be disrespected in your own house. Your grandfather always said that you were so like your mother that way.

Red then relaxes, his shoulders dropping, and his stare turns calm. “Yeah, you’re right…”

You are? About what?

“Ya shouldn’t get involved in things that aren’t your business,” he says flatly.

He climbs the stairs after his brothers without another word, leaving you stunned and staring at the back of his retreating head…at the large crack that runs all the way around his skull.

-

The tour of the second floor goes about as poorly as you had anticipated.

These rooms are clearly more desirable – the master bedroom, once belonging to your grandparents, has been split into two, since it was big enough, though its seems that one conversion has more appeal than the other.

Your evidence: Boss and Scar arguing over it.

“Please!” Boss cackles. “What would a creature as small as you do with such a large space? You could barely fit into one of the corners!”

“Don’t think that you can threaten me just because of your bumbling height!” Scar spits. “What is it about this room that has _you_ so keen?”

“It is the largest!” Boss states, as though it were obvious.

“Hmm, yeah,” Slim mutters sleepily, perched on the top step of the staircase. “You’d need the biggest room to fit your giant head.”

“ _Your_ head will be through the fuckin’ wall if you don’t shut it,” Red snarls at him, hiding in the shadows of the farthest corner, away from all the commotion.

“Heh, if you can reach it,” Slim counters.

A terrifying smile curls Red’s mouth, and he flexes a fist, a menacing ruby glow flashing in his sockets. “Looks like I can reach it from here…”

“Now, now,” Stretch interrupts calmly, “if the mongrels are going to fight, then they can do it outside.”

“Back off, beanpole,” Red snarls.

Slim doesn’t even respond to Stretch, falling backwards and hitting the floor of the landing with a heavy _smack_ , and seconds later, he’s snoring softly.  

You can hear Papyrus and Blue…somewhere, combing through the rooms of the floor with great enthusiasm. Stretch, meanwhile, has abandoned Red to his shadowy corner to converse with Sans, standing a fair distance from you.

“Don’t lie,” Scar hisses to Boss. “You just want it because I do!”

Boss laughs uproariously. “Don’t think so highly of yourself! Oh, wait…” He curls over Scar threateningly, “…how _can_ you?”

“You giant, gangly fool,” Scar splutters. “You can’t possibly understand the minor details that make this room perfect! You couldn’t see how each wall of this room is of the same width and height, not only making this room symmetrical from all corners, but also aesthetically pleasing to the eye. The window is perfectly centred, and faces the north-east, therefore will fill this entire room with warmth from the early morning sun, and retain that heat throughout the day! Even the floor, which is perfectly straight that you could place a marble on it and it wouldn’t move, adds to this rooms charm! These minor, but very important details have clearly not once crossed through your narrow mind.” He then chuckles, and it sounds as though he plucked it from a Sixties horror movie, sinister grin and all. “Clearly, since you seem to fill your head with delusions of your own so-called _greatness_ , they didn’t even have a chance!” 

“All of your reasons are both ridiculous and completely unnecessary!” Boss bellows. “Who cares about the symmetry of the room? You’re just making these things up!”

“Human!”

You squeak with surprise, and spin around to find Papyrus beaming down at you, and Blue hovering close by with an equally large smile stretching his face.

“I believe we have found a room to our liking!” Papyrus says brightly. “Please, come with us!”

“Oh…” You place a hand over your rapidly pounding heart, as though you can somehow keep it from bursting out of your chest. “That’s great!”

Blue nods. “Oh, yes, it is! It’s a magnificent room!”

“Indeed!” Papyrus agrees. “It is obvious that such a room has been home to some great people before our time!”

“If the walls could speak, they would boast of its many wonderful occupants!” Blue hollers.

You follow them across the hall towards a room to the west of the house, and Papyrus and Blue stride into the room with vigour…but you pause in the doorway.

“See?” Blue says to you, throwing his arms wide. “It’s perfect! Over here we can set up our battle scenarios!” He patters over to one corner of the room and swings his arms from side to side, indicating the space he wishes to use. “And over here…” He jogs towards the wall opposite. “…we can move the bed! Not that where you have put it is bad, but the corner is so much more comfortable! It’s like it’s all tucked away snugly!”

Papyrus nods decisively. “And here,” he says, pointing to the wall beside the walk-in closet, “we can put our posters!”

“And here,” Blue adds, speaking more to Papyrus now that he is to you, “we can put a large rug! One with blue fire all around the edges! Just like home!”

“What about red fire?” Papyrus says, then snaps his fingers. “We could mix them up!”

Blue laughs. “Mweh-heh! A magnificent idea!”

Your chest tightens, and your eyes sting, but you quickly blink away the tears – Blue and Papyrus couldn’t understand that your tears are ones of gratitude, and not grief.

This _magnificent room_ is your old bedroom.

It’s strange to think that it used to be your father’s room, and your grandfather’s before him. It may have even been your great-grandfather’s, but you never asked. You wouldn’t be surprised if it was.

Papyrus distracts you from your reminiscing by asking, “Human? Are their rules against painting?”

You laugh – there were no rules when you lived here. This room has been painted many times over the years, but it was never re-painted as much while you occupied it. You went through a number of phases growing up; the horse phase, the mermaid phase, the fairy phase, the witch phase, then the weird rebellion phase where each wall was painted a different colour to spite your grandmother.

But your grandparents allowed you to change the room as much as you wanted…as long as you were the one to do it. And being the stubborn child that you were, you rose to the challenge and re-painted your room over and over.

Now, like the rest of the bedrooms, the walls are a simple cream of the softest shade you could find. White was far too bright, but the cream worked very well with the warm brown of the floorboards. You weren’t expecting any future tenants to stick with the colour, but you definitely weren’t expecting them to make changes so soon…before they’d even moved in.

“Nope,” you say. “Just let me know, first?”

“Nyeh-heh!” Papyrus cackles. “Perfect! A nice maroon would suit it, I think!”

“Or a navy blue!” Blue says.

“Um, I’m really sorry,” you say, “but you know that only one of you can have this room, right?”

The skeletons blink.

“Oh, dear,” Blue says, and his voice has lost all of its unbridled joy – it sounds so odd to you. He cups his chin with his hand, thinking hard. “Well…I suppose we will have to decide between us!”

“Hmm…yes!” Papyrus says quite happily, though the energy in his voice has dulled slightly. “Or, unless, the human decides!”

They look at you expectantly.

Oh, no…you really don’t want to have to choose between them. You can’t possibly choose between them!

“I mean…” you try, “I guess…I do have a small plan for the house...”

“Excellent!” Papyrus says. “Tell us!”

Fabulous…now you actually have to come up with the plan.

You usher them back to the landing, and find that Boss and Scar are now arguing over who should belong in _the unfit, shoddy room_ next to the perfect room.

You want to argue – _every_ room in this house is perfect, thank you very much! But you steel yourself, and raise your voice. “Can everyone listen, please?”

All eyes turn to you, save for Boss and Scar. You disregard them, addressing those who are actually paying attention to you. _They’ll join in when they’re ready_.

“So…it seems that there’s a bit of a…height issue,” you say.

Sans and Stretch chuckle, and Red fires them his deadly glare.

“I think the those who are taller would be better suited to these rooms,” you continue. “The rooms on the third floor have quite low ceilings, but do you guys want to go and check them out?”

“You heard the chief, tiny,” Stretch says to him. “Off you go.”

You choke on your next words when you become aware of the increasing heat of Scar’s disapproving stare against your back. You make sure to address Blue, Red, and Sans so you don’t have to meet that piercing glare. “Would you like to see them?”

Blue nods quite happily, and drags Sans with him to the staircase leading to the third floor. Sans gives in to Blue’s tugging with grace, and sends a wink your way before he disappears with his double up the stairs.

However, Red remains, shoulders tense, and his entire body far too still. “Ya sayin’ I’m small?”

You frown, then wince – your headache is beginning to turn nasty. “No…? I’m just trying to be reasonable, here.” You try not to let ire leak into your tone, but your worsening headache is not helping your increasing stress levels.  

“Can’t get mad at somethin’ that’s true, short-stack,” Slim rasps with a laugh from the floor.

Red emerges from his corner and slowly approaches his golden-fanged brother. “Ya lazy piece of shit…I ain’t fuckin’ living next to that little freak in the scarf. And if ya don’t shut it, my foot’ll shut it for ya.”

Stretch tenses behind you. “Funny…” he says stonily, “…I’m sure my bro would take that as a compliment. Or wonder why you’re berating yourself so loudly.”

“ _Nyaaah!_ ” Boss screeches, and the pain in your skull only gets worse. “Listen to me, you exasperating half-wit! You cannot insist that the positioning of the sun makes a room any less perfect! You haven’t even seen the sun long enough to make that assumption!”

“And why can’t I?” Scar responds in an icy voice. “It’s not as if you’ve seen the sun for any longer than I have!”

Blue then comes speeding down the stairs with Sans in tow, who looks as though he’s been tossed about like a ragdoll.

“They are some rather nice rooms, human!” he tells you, then turns to Red. “You really should go an see them! They certainly are perfect for our sizes!”

Red is quivering with barely contained fury. “ _Our_ sizes?”

“Well, yes!” Blue blabbers on. “We’re both the same, aren’t we?”

“The _hell_ we are,” Red seethes.

You take a long breath and make a quick checklist, muttering to yourself since you can barely hear yourself think. “Basement is definitely taken. Papyrus wants a room that’s not on the ground floor. Neither does Boss… Scar and Red do _not_ want small rooms…”

“I can take the room with the porch,” Stretch whispers in your ear, startling you. “I don’t care.”

“Okay, porch room is taken,” you add, cheeks warming. “Blue and Papyrus like the west room…”

There’s too much noise – Papyrus has joined Blue in attempting to convince Red that his small stature is nothing to be ashamed of, somehow sounding both patronising and encouraging at the same time…and it’s clear that Red can only hear the former; Boss and Scar are still shrieking at each other, talking less about the room and instead throwing insults that would make your poor grandmother faint between them.

“Hey…” Sans says to you, “If it helps, I can take the ground floor. The less stairs I have to walk up, the better.”

“Are you sure?” you say. “If you have any preferences, you can tell me.”

Sans shrugs. “Like I said, I don’t care what room I get, s’long as I can sleep in it.”

You mentally tick off the room. “Okay, ground floor filled…”

What happens next is so quick, so sudden, that you can barely keep up: Red, blind with rage, lashes out at poor Blue, and mid-lunge, his foot nudges a sleeping Slim – the golden-fanged skeleton blindly swipes his arm out in shock, clipping Red across the ankles, and the smaller monster crashes to the floor before he can lay a single finger on Blue.

There’s a beat of silence – save for Boss and Scar’s continuous bickering – before Sans and Stretch snort.

Blue and Papyrus immediately crowd Red.

“Oh my God!” Blue cries. “Oh, no! I hope I didn’t ruin your attempt to tackle me!”

“Would you like some help?” Papyrus asks a very still and silent Red, whose sockets have lost their crimson glow – they are nothing but dark, empty voids…and you can feel the absolute fury pouring off of him.

“Here!” Blue says, and plants his feet firmly on the floor. “I’ll stand really still this time!”

Stretch creases over, and Sans braces himself with one hand on his brother’s shoulder, both attempting to hold back laughter.  

The noise is only about to get worse – you can smell faint traces of burning paper, and the hairs along your arms rise when Red pushes himself to one knee, ignoring Papyrus’s offered hand. His scarlet eyes flash, and he slowly turns to Slim with a look that promises blood.

You do _not_ want them fighting on your staircase – it took you weeks to varnish the woodwork!

You clap twice, loudly. “Alright! Listen!”

All heads turn to you, and the landing goes blissfully silent.

There’s a terrible pounding in your temples, and you just want to curl up in a tight ball and hide yourself in a dark room. But you try to ignore the insistent throbbing, and take a deep breath. “Look, the house is yours, okay?”

Papyrus and Blue cheer with a loud high-five, and Scar and Boss seem to relax from their defensive – or offensive? – stances.

“Only because I can’t afford to run this house by myself,” you continue, “and I need to fill out these rooms as quickly as I can. _But…!_ ” you shout when Boss, Scar, Papyrus, and Blue each open their mouths to speak, “…if you guys can’t decide on rooms by the end of the week, then I’ll assign them to you.” You narrow your eyes at Boss and Scar in particular, and their scowls drop. “Got it?”

All jaws snap shut, and an uncomfortable silence follows.

You are only an amateur, after all, but is being a homeowner always this trying? Perhaps you should have waited for your agent to finish up his business in the city – he probably would have handled the entire situation much better than you had, since he’s technically the professional…

You’ve never dealt with such chaos before. These skeletons make the children you teach look like perfect little angels.

Blue is the first one to disturb the tense silence. “We can definitely move in?”

“Yes,” you affirm with a sigh. “If you still want to, then by all means.”

“I still want to,” Blue says earnestly.

“And I do!” Papyrus adds.

“Okay, but…” you say, a little desperately, “you need to work with me here. I can’t guarantee you the rooms that you all want, so we need to come to a compromise. If you can pick rooms between yourselves by the end of this week, then I can see what I can do about getting your lease started within the month.”

At the brothers’ sheepish looks, you chuckle dryly. “Come on, it’s obvious that you really hate living with each other.” 

“It can get a little cramped in the apartment,” Papyrus says with a solemn nod.

An apartment? That’s where they live? You’re appalled – who’s bright idea was it to hole eight skeletons, some twice the height of an average human, into a _single apartment?_

Papyrus then slides a side-long glance at Sans and Stretch, eyes narrowed. “And _some of us_ don’t clean up after themselves…”

Both skeletons merely shrug.

“Shall we talk contracts, then?” you say, and turn to Sans. “Or I can always email them to you?”

“Sure,” Sans says. “Easier.”

“Just…please figure these rooms out, okay?” you say to the skeleton ensemble. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d assign them to you.”

Slim chuckles sleepily. “Heh…feisty.”

“Well, then!” Boss huffs. “I suppose we can conduct ourselves long enough to do something so simple!” He strides over to you, making sure to clip his boot against Slim’s head on the way. “There will be no need to assign us rooms, human, but I can appreciate your eagerness to assist! You see, I rather like the room facing the front of the house…” He points to the oh-so-perfect room, “…and someone as great and terrifying as myself would –”

“Oh, hush, please!” Scar snaps at him. “Can you not see the human flinching every time you open that filthy mouth of yours?”

“Ah…” Where you really being that obvious? The sharp, throbbing pain in your temples is almost blinding, and the sheer volume of Boss’s voice is hardly helping. “I’m sorry…I have a headache.” 

“Welp,” Sans says firmly. “I guess that’s our cue.”

“Oh, no!” you quickly argue, attempting to hide your wince when pain flairs in your skull from spinning around too quickly. “You don’t have to go.”

Sans waves you off with a reassuring smile. “S’cool, we’ve seen enough. Nice place, right, fellas?”

“Absolutely!” Papyrus says.

“Definitely!” Blue says.

Red shrugs. “S’alright…”

“Anywhere is better than that hole you call an apartment!” Boss spits.

“There you go,” Sans says to you triumphantly.

You would argue that you don’t appreciate your house being referred to as some kind of slightly better alternative to a dump, but you could really do without Boss screeching in your ear.

“Lookin’ a little wobbly, there, sweetheart,” Sans says with a soft chuckle.

Yeah…you should probably lie down…

“Oh, dear!” Blue cries. “Human, are you sick?” He then suddenly backs away. “Are you contagious?”

He and Papyrus slowly cover their mouths and non-existent noses.

At least it makes you giggle – can a skeleton get sick, too? “No, it’s only a headache.”

“Oh, that’s okay, then!” Papyrus says, and he drops his hand. “Green tea is good for human migraines! His Majesty told me so!”

“Oh, tha–” You meet Papyrus’s wholly innocent look. “Who told you?”

Papyrus blinks. “Uh, the king?” He says it as though it’s so obvious.

Your jaw drops. Papyrus knows the _king of all monsters?_

“Or peppermint!” Blue says. “Her Majesty says that ginger tea is good, too!”

… Are you going to be housing celebrities? Are all of the brothers close with the royal family?

The king and queen have been known to be rather involved with their own kind, engaging with them with a familiarity that was almost like they were family. The queen especially had done wonders for her subjects during all the legal talks following the Barrier shattering, treating each and every monster with care and empathy like a mother would her own child. And the king had done a terrific job of keeping their morale up during the difficult time; according to him, every problem could be solved over a nice cup of tea…

And somehow, they had managed to become something of a joke on the internet for acting too much like parents to their subjects, terrible dad jokes and all.

So…perhaps Blue and Papyrus aren’t exactly as close to the royal family as you seem to think. Maybe, like the rest of their kind, they see the royal family as friends rather than as a ruling power?

You need to read a book, or something. Monsters have to have history books, right? Or a _Monster Customs For Dummies?_  

“Um…thank you,” you say sincerely. “I think I’ll give them a try.”

Blue and Papyrus practically glow.

Boss scoffs. “Don’t cosy up to the human just so you can get the better room!”

“We can do that?” Slim says around a yawn. “Hey, uh…how cosy are we talkin’?”

He fixes you with an upside-down hooded stare, and something curls out of his mouth…it’s glowing a rich amber, and unfurls from the same blackness behind his teeth that you saw behind Boss’s fangs.

Is that…a tongue?

“You already have a room, you worthless dog!” Boss growls, and roughly nudges the side of Slim’s head with his boot.

Oh, Slim’s _the dog_ Stretch was referring to? That seems a little harsh…

“I know,” he says, running his strange, glowing tongue up and down his golden fang. “Can I still _get cosy_ , though?” He looks at you expectantly.

“Please don’t,” you say at the same time Red says, “Paws off, mutt.”

You glance up at him, but he’s staring at the floor, adamantly avoiding your eyes.

“Control your dog!” Boss snaps at Scar.

“Control yours,” Scar fires back nastily.

“Hmm, ‘kay,” Stretch says, patting Blue on the head. “Let’s leave her in peace, yeah?”

Blue bats his brother’s hand away, but not harshly. “Yes, yes! Oh!” He gazes at you inquisitively. “But human, how will we reach you?”

“My number’s right there on the contract, Blue,” you say, “if you need it.”

Blue blinks. “What…did you just call me?”

Heat flares in your neck. “Um…I, uh…your scarf…”

Blue’s ever present smile stretches wider…wider…until he’s beaming so brightly that the sun would be jealous.  

“I like it!” he says, then turns to Stretch, planting one hand on his hip and tugging on his scarf with the other. “Doesn’t it suit me, Pap?”

Stretch nods. “Sure does, little buddy.”

“Can I have a nickname?” Slim asks, sounding rather entertained.

“Can I?” Papyrus pipes up.

“Must you all be so childish?” Scar scolds.

“Get out of the way, pest!” Boss snarls at Slim, kicking him to one side when he marches towards you. “Listen well, human! You can be sure that upon my return, I shall have acquired that which I desire! The great and terrible Papyrus is never denied!”

You take a deep breath. “If you say so.”

With a satisfied nod and a smirk that oozes arrogance, he turns to Red. “Sans! We’re leaving!”

Red still refuses to meet your eyes. “Yeah, boss…”

He trails after his brother, head lowered. When he passes by you, you hold out a hand to stop him…but it’s quickly captured by Papyrus in another one of his erratic handshakes.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, human!” he crows. “I can’t wait to move in!”

Blue is too impatient and snags your other hand, shaking it in tandem with Papyrus. “Yes! It really has been a huge pleasure!”

“It’s been great to meet you, too,” you say weakly. All this tugging isn’t helping your headache _at all_.

“Careful, there,” Sans tells his brothers with a grin. “You might rip her apart.”

“We’d ought to hustle,” Stretch tells Blue. “The Edgy Mc’Edge twins have split already.”

Boss and Red? They certainly left in a hurry; you didn’t hear the front door close…and you wanted to say goodbye.

Sans nods. “Better get back before they start scaring the neighbours.”

“Yes! And I have to begin packing!” Papyrus says. “I mean, I haven’t got much, but it’s always good to get ahead of yourself!”

“I’ll help you!” Blue promises him.

They release your hands and sprint down the stairs, laughing all the way, and just barely avoid taking Slim down with them.

“For the Angel’s sake, get up,” Scar hisses to him.

Unfolding from his undignified heap on the floor, Slim staggers to his feet, scratching the abused side of his skull.

“Don’t let the great oaf bully you,” Scar says to you, coolly, and it’s clear he’s referring to Boss. “He’s too full of himself that he cannot appreciate the smallest things. Surely you would rather prefer tenants who appreciate all of your hard work?”

You smile wryly. Oh, he’s good – he’s obviously realised that complimenting the house is a sure-fire way of buttering you up. However, you refuse to let it work. “If you can’t figure this out, neither of you will get that room.”

He nods, and that faint blush returns to his cheeks. “Rest assured, this will all be solved within the week.”

He strides down the stairs, dragging Slim with him by the hood of his jacket.

“Um…bye,” you call.

Scar doesn’t return your farewell, but Slim peeks up from beneath his hood and salutes you. “See ya.”

“Do you need me to call a cab, or anything?” you ask Sans and Stretch.

Stretch shakes his head. “Thanks, but we’re good. You doing ok?”

“A little overwhelmed, to be honest,” you say with a weak laugh.

Stretch hums, calmly observing Blue bouncing excitedly in the entrance hall. “Sans seems pretty happy.”

“And Papyrus,” Sans adds, following Stretch’s gaze. He then nudges the taller skeleton with his elbow, face split in a victorious grin. “Told you this house was a keeper.”

Your cheeks flush with pride. “Your brothers are adorable.”

Stretch tuts. “I think the word you’re looking for is _cool_ ,” he chastises playfully.

You nod. “My bad. They’re pretty cool.”

With a pleased grin, Stretch offers you his hand to shake. This time, you take it without thinking.

The loud squeak of the clown horn echoes around the landing, and you groan with frustration and pain when your temples throb.

Stretch chuckles and holds up his hand, revealing the clown horn taped to his wrist. “Thanks for the assist,” he says to Sans.

“Too bad the chicken fell in the line of duty,” Sans says, feigning grief. “Thought you could take a crack at the ol’ horn.”

“Chicken deaths are no yoke, pal,” Stretch returns. To you, he says, “Thanks for the tour, So-Confused.”

“That’s going to stick, is it?” You give Stretch a sly smile, and it succeeds in throwing him a little. “You’re welcome, Stretch.”

He blinks, then chuckles gruffly. “Huh…that’s it? I thought it was gonna be something way worse.”

As he passes you on his way towards the stairs, you think that his brief, parting glance is filled with judgment again…but it’s conflicted, like he can’t seem to make up his mind about you.

“Didn’t I say I’d fill out the rooms?” Sans asks you with a wink.

“Well, you haven’t filled them out yet,” you say. “I’ll send the contracts tonight, just so you guys can have a read. I’ll need to redact them to get the lease date changed, but I should be able to get those to you by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll drop ‘em off when they’re all signed.”

“Good luck with that.” You make your way down the stairs, and Sans waits until you’re a good few steps ahead of him before he trundles after you. “Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you over the next few days.”

“Yeah. Hey, I appreciate you offering to move the lease date earlier.”

“Of course. I’m pretty desperate, too.”

That makes Sans chortle. “Just a couple of desperate losers, aren’t we?”

You reach the bottom of the stairs, and find that Scar and Slim have already left, leaving behind the scent of what you can only guess is their magic; sun-warmed metal and a frozen wind. Beneath it all, there’s a lingering scent of burning, and you fear that perhaps your headache is a little more severe than you thought. Doesn’t the phantom smell of burning mean there’s something wrong with you?

No…the burning must belong to Boss…or maybe Red – you remember catching a faint whiff of it when he turned his deadly gaze on Slim. It certainly matches their personalities.

Stretch is hovering in the open frame of the front door, placing an unlit cigarette between his teeth, and Blue and Papyrus are awaiting their brothers on the porch, observing the surrounding neighbourhood…or what little there is of it.

You walk with Sans out onto the front porch – there’s definitely no car or cab waiting by the curb. Scar and Slim are nowhere to be seen, and Boss and Red appear to be long gone; they clearly didn’t want to share their mysterious transport with the rest of their brothers. How rude…

“Uh…I guess I’ll see you at the end of the week?” you say, trying to make your investigations discreet.

“Maybe before,” Sans says. “You never know. I’ll give you a call.”

You nod, and your head pounds. “You can call if you have any questions, too.”

“Sans, come _on!_ ” Papyrus calls impatiently. “I have to return home so I can properly pack my belongings! And you need to sort through all that junk of yours!”

“Oof, junk?” Sans quirks a brow. “You mean my sock collection?”

“It’s _dirty laundry,_ and you know it!” Papyrus admonishes.

“Heh, take it easy, chief,” Stretch says, patting you on the shoulder as he passes you to join Blue on the stairs of the porch. He’s lit his cigarette, and when he walks by you, the smoke catches in your nostrils – it smells sweet, nothing like any tobacco you’ve ever smelled before. It must be some monster brand…   

“Goodbye, human!” Blue says cheerfully.

“Farewell!” Papyrus says. “Remember…green and peppermint tea!”

“I do,” you assure him. “See you soon.”

“Nyeh-heh! Yes, you will!”

“Call you soon, kid,” Sans says with another wink, and joins his brothers.

You give the yard one more quick sweep; if they really were just waiting outside all morning, then how are they going to get home? Dubious, you return to your house, but you hesitate before you shut the door and pull out your phone to check the time…the next bus isn’t for another hour.

You can’t just leave them to wait outside for a whole hour. You decide to call them a cab –

Before you can run back outside, your eye catches Stretch’s rubber chicken, kicked into a hidden corner of the hall. With a soft laugh, you retrieve the toy and give it a gentle squeeze. It wheezes a tired, pathetic squawk.

It’s a perfect excuse to catch them without seeming too overbearing. You run back out onto the porch. “Wait! You left your –”

The front yard is empty.

“…chicken…?”

You cautiously descend the porch steps, searching the yard and the road beyond it. They’ve just…vanished.

The scent of damp wood floats along a warm breeze, blowing gently into your face. It hasn’t rained for several days…so you can only guess that it must be the scent of their magic.

Monsters who can teleport, perhaps?

It’s possible…you haven’t personally witnessed any monsters use magic since they emerged from Mt. Ebott, so you’re not sure what kind of magic they’re capable of – the human officials demanded rather tight restrictions on monsters using their magic in public, lest it unsettle the delicate psyche of the human citizens.

Though you find it rather silly, you can understand…a little. Seeing someone just disappear before your eyes must cause a bit of a shock.

You return to your house and close the door slowly. You should call your agent to get those contracts changed as soon as you can, but instead, you slouch against the front door and sink to the floor, cradling the forgotten chicken in your lap, completely and utterly spent from the uproarious company you just had.

Your soon-to-be-tenants…

You groan, curling your legs against your chest and massaging your burning forehead, trying to reject the idea that you may have just made a huge mistake.

-

You weren’t usually one to get migraines, but on the rare occasion that you did, they knocked you out for _days_.

After sending Sans the contracts and leaving your agent a brief voicemail inquiring about making changes to the lease date, you slept the rest of the afternoon away, but not before drowning yourself in an old box of peppermint tea you fished out from the deep recesses of your kitchen cupboards.

You refuse to interpret it as a bad omen – yes, some of the brothers are a little brazen, but you want to chalk their bad attitudes down to being stuck under the same cramped roof with each other for _a while_ – whatever that means. They’re going to be lovely tenants…you know it.

The evening after the tour, the first thing you did upon waking, still feeling rather fragile, was check your phone for any messages. 

There was a missed call from your agent, and a voicemail from the same number – the agency was already closed by the time you awoke, so you made a note to call him first thing in the morning. Based on his voicemail, he seemed quite happy to adjust the lease date, so that was one obstacle out of the way.

And then came the texts.

Your inbox was flooded with texts from various unknown numbers. But after sifting through them, it was easy to guess who they were from.

 **16:12 –** _Human! Thank you for such an exhilarating tour! Your house really is magnificent!_

 **16:17 –** _I can’t wait to move in! It’s all so exciting!_

 **16:21 –** _This is Sa_

 **16:22 –** _This is Blue, btw!_

 **16:24 –** _When we arrive, I shall cook for you! It would be the least I can do to thank you for your hospitality with my culinary genius!_

 **16:26 –** _Do you like tacos?_

 **16:27 –** _Please let me know!_

 **18:20 –** _I hope you’re feeling better! Please text me when you get this message!_

You sent back a brief text thanking him, and assuring him that you were feeling much better after his thoughtful peppermint tea recommendation and a long sleep. Before sending it, you quickly added that you very much enjoy eating tacos, and saved the number as _Blue_.

The next load of messages were obvious.

 **18:03 –** _sans told me to text you_

 **18:09 –** _he says hi_

 **18:16 –** _he also told me to ask you if youre feeling any better_

 **18:20 –** _hes probably going to text you now_

You saved the number as _Stretch_ , and texted back a quick _thank you_.

 **16:13 –** _Human, this is the great Papyrus! Thank you for the fascinating tour!_

 **16:15 –** _Your house is very great! I’m looking forward to moving in!_

 **16:25 –** _You must let me cook for you! I shall prepare my most famous of dishes, of which I am well renowned for!_

 **16:27 –** _I hope you like pasta!_

 **16:28 –** _Do let me know!_

 **18:19 –** _I hope you are feeling better! Please text me so I know!_

You saved the number as _Papyrus_ after texting back and quick _thank you_ for his concern, and informing him that you do, indeed, rather like pasta.

Before you could check the next message, you received a rather swift reply from Blue, followed seconds later by Papyrus.

 **Blue – 19:45 –** _Fantastic! Do you like hard-shell or soft-shell?_

 **Blue – 19:46 –** _Personally I like both!_

 **Papyrus – 19:46 –** _Excellent! Do you have a preference? I have collected a range of human pasta recipes to try out!_

 **Blue – 19:47 –** _Why don’t I just make both?_

 **Blue – 19:47 –** _That would be easier! I’ll make both!_

 **Papyrus – 19:48 –** _I could make fusilli, farfalle, tagliatelle, gnocchi, spaghetti, linguine –_

You should have known that they would be rapid-texters. You moved onto the remaining unknown message to give them a quick read before answering.

 **16:31 –** _papyrus kept nagging me to text you_

 **16:35 –** _this is sans_

 **16:40 –** _thanks for today_

 **16:41 –** _;)_

You sent back a winking emoji of your own, and saved the number as _Sans._

 **17:23 –** _Human, I am merely contacting you via cellular device to remind you that I desire the room on the second floor facing the front of the house. This is only a precaution, as my incompetent brothers seem confident that we shall solve this dispute amongst ourselves, however, it is clear that I have some competition._

_Ensure to keep this in mind, human! Should the decision fall to you, remember that I, the great and terrible Papyrus, request the second floor room facing the north of the house._

**17:49 –** _the boss likes to use my phone_

 **17:52 –** _sorry_

You saved the number as _Boss &Red_, unable to stop smiling.

Over the next few days, the effects of the migraine lingered, and occasionally flared up, rendering you bed-ridden. While you recovered, your phone pinged relentlessly with incoming messages, not giving you the peace you hoped for.

Most of them were from Blue and Papyrus, asking you questions about the house, ranging from pretty random to rather specific, such as how tall your Christmas tree was last year, and which room you put it in.

Stretch only texted you to inform you that Blue wanted to tell you something, followed seconds later by the very same text from Blue.

Sans texted only once after his introductory message:

 **Sans – 13:24 –** _knock knock_

 **You – 13:29 –** _Who’s there?_

 **Sans – 13:33 –** _butter_

 **You – 13:36 –** _Butter who?_

 **Sans – 13:40 –** _feel butter soon_

… Terrible though the joke was, it was also rather sweet.

Red kept texting you at Boss’s discretion, only to remind you that should the brothers fail to reach a verdict, you should definitely give him the north master bedroom. Though Red often added a small _sorry_ several hours later, as though Boss had been using his phone without his knowledge.

He never replied to your messages telling him that you didn’t mind, but you weren’t expecting him to.

Lost within the sea of texts that kept accumulating during your brief periods of sleep, you managed to find two unknown numbers.

 **09:30 –** _Here is my number, if you must insist on having it. I hope that you haven’t got some ridiculous nick-name for me, too. Sans._

That’s Scar, without a doubt. You saved the number under his name.

 **10:39 –** _hey_

 **11:52 –** _papyrus_

 **14:01 –** _or whatever you want_

And there’s Slim – not only the last to text, but based on the time frame between messages, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d fallen asleep between sending them.

It takes three days for your headache to subside enough for you to clamber out of bed. Consequently, it’s that very same day that Sans chooses to drop off the contracts.

You wake that morning to a text from him.

 **Sans – 10:27 –** _on the porch_

That was fast…

You send back a short text: _Conversion is to the left of the house._ You’re still feeling a little groggy, and can’t quite stare into bright lights without your head throbbing. But after twenty minutes of no response, you throw a shawl over your shoulders and venture out to investigate. Did Sans just leave the contracts on the porch then disappear? Those are important legal documents!

However, your indignation fades when you find him fast asleep on the porch steps, hugging a binder containing the revised contracts you had sent him the other day, and snoring quite loudly.

You don’t want to wake him too suddenly, but even your heavy footsteps on the porch don’t disturb him.

“Hello?” you call, and still that does nothing.

You place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Are you –?”

“You’ve got contracts,” Sans says quite suddenly, hardly sounding as though he was in a deep slumber seconds ago.

“Really?” you say, trying to calm the pounding of your heart with a hand to your chest. “That didn’t take as long as I thought it would.”

Sans shrugs. “Eh, it’s been three days.”

You sit beside him and pull the shawl tighter around your neck. “I’ve been sleeping for most of them.”

“Heh, a girl after my own non-existent heart.” He hands you the binder. “But…you don’t seem like the type to sleep on the job. You doing ok?”

“I had a pretty bad migraine,” you say, taking the binder with a nod of thanks.

“Ah…that wasn’t us, was it?” Sans looks genuinely concerned.

“No,” you assure him. “I think it was all the stress of getting this house sold. I’ve been worrying about it so much over the past few months, my body just caved.”

You count through the contracts, studying the signatures at the bottom of each page. Despite sharing the same names, it’s easy to distinguish between them.

There’s a huge, untidy, almost child-like scrawl that clearly belongs to Papyrus, then another similar, but much smaller scribble that must belong to Blue. Boss’s signature rivals theirs in untidiness, but it’s clear that he tried his hardest to make it legible, and the writing is so thick it looks as though he very nearly broke the pen while signing it.

You soon learn why: Scar managed to snag the north master bedroom.   

Not surprisingly, Scar’s signature is very neat – what’s _really_ surprising is that Red’s is pretty much the same….so much so that it’s quite hard to tell them apart. You assume that the signature with the slightly rougher edges is Red’s.

Stretch and Slim’s signatures, on the other hand, are only differentiated by the fact that Slim’s lazy swirl of a signature is printed on the contract for the basement, and Stretch clearly wrote _Stretch_ in brackets beneath his equally lazy signature – they look like how your teacher used to sign your hall passes; a quick, careless scrawl that looks nothing like their name.

Finally, Sans’s signature is very simple, and the most distinguishable of them all; it’s literally just SANS in block letters.     

“Were there any disagreements with payment?” you ask, flicking back through the papers.

Sans yawns. “Don’t think so. It’s all going to a shared account, right?”

“I thought that that would be the easiest option.” You notice with relief that the brothers all agreed to pay monthly…save for one…

Sans nods. “The easy option is always the best.”

“I mean, cash in hand is fine too,” you say, eyeing the abnormal contract. You flip to the next one to confirm your suspicions. “But invoices will be needed, too.”

“Sure.” Sans then rolls to his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Welp…I’d better run. Just wanted to get those to you before any of the guys changed their minds.”

You gesture to the house with your thumb. “Are you sure? I can get some coffee going…?”

Sans shakes his head. “Got work. Thanks a latte, though.”

You laugh. “Brew-tiful delivery on that one.”

Sans’s grin widens, and he winks. “See ya, neighbour.”

 _Oh my God_ … That’s right! You’re going to have neighbours!

“See you,” you say excitedly.

You keep a keen eye on his back as he walks down the path, waiting for him to just disappear. But when he reaches the end of the yard, he simply loiters by the road – he must be expecting a ride. How disappointing…

You return your attention the contracts to give them one last comb over, and you notice with glee that Papyrus has taken your old room.

You’re a little sad for Blue that he didn’t manage to win it, but he may have willingly given it to Papyrus…or lost it in a game of chance. You wouldn’t have minded if either of them had gotten your room – you know that they will take very good care of it.

Honestly, what you really want to know is how on earth Scar managed to wrestle the north master bedroom from Boss.

When a particularly warm gust disturbs the papers, you glance up –

Sans is gone.

“Damn it!” you hiss. He and his brothers _must_ be able to teleport. You’ll catch them, one day… You make a mental note to buy a book about monsters the next time you’re in the city.  

With a huff, you snap the binder shut and return to your conversion, withdrawing your phone to search for your agent’s number.

Everything seems to be in order, but of all the contracts, there is only one that stands out to you the most; the abnormal one.

Red seems to be not only paying for his room, but Boss’s as well.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof, long chapter, sorry! 
> 
> heey so I wanted to experiment in this fic…I know a lot of fics have the brothers butting heads with each other over the reader, but I really wanted to make their conflicting personalities the focal point of this story :) makes for juicy character development later *wink wonk*
> 
> I’ve always liked the idea that you never actually see how Sans teleports in the game, so I figured I’d make that a thing here :)
> 
> Also…does anyone else remember Funnybones?
> 
> EDIT 15/10/18  
> whoops! i accidentally deleted a line that shouldnt have been! its no big deal, but it was bothering me loooool


	3. Crab-apples, keychains, and a chicken called Duck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You cook, you clean, and your grandmother’s spirit returns to give you unwarranted advice.
> 
> Warnings for chapter: none

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you soo much for your patience guys!! im sorry this takes me so long to do, but there are so many characters to write i end up getting confused @-@ also real life has been making me her binch lately lol
> 
> and thank you so much for all the kudos and lovely comments! im so glad that people are enjoying this fic just as much as i enjoy writing it!
> 
> wanna talk and stuffs? wanna ask questions? or just wanna say hi? here's my [tumblr!](https://cocofinny.tumblr.com/)

-

-Chapter Two-

-

 

You curse your past self for not paying the installation fee for the bug screens.

It had sounded so easy when the sales clerk explained it all to you, and the _experts_ online made it look as simple as fitting a picture frame onto a wall.

The bottom floor windows were not too difficult to fix, but maintaining your balance on the ladder while simultaneously holding the bug screen steady so you could drill the screws in on the upper floor windows was a nightmare. After a particularly frightening slip, you decided to take a break, nursing a glass of water with trembling hands.

Naturally, it’s after you’ve regained your courage and braved the ladder again when your new tenants decide to show up and almost kill you.

“Human!” Papyrus shouts. “We have arrived!”

You very nearly topple from the ladder with fright. You hand holding the electric drill slips, and you end up gouging a hole in the window frame.

“No!” you wail.

“No? No, we haven’t arrived?” Papyrus says loudly. “Did we not arrive properly? Shall we arrive again?”

You force a smile and look down, teeth clenched so hard they hurt, and hold out a placating hand. “No, no! Sorry! I’ll be down in a second!”   

On Papyrus’s left is Sans, and on his other side are Blue and Stretch, watching you expectantly. Papyrus and Blue are each holding two large duffel bags that look stuffed close to bursting, but Sans and Stretch don’t seem to be carrying anything. Did they come in a car? Or perhaps they’re expecting a van to drop off their belongings?

You stagger down the ladder, taking your failed, unattached bug screen with you, and the skeletons hurry to meet you once you’re on the ground – or, Papyrus and Blue rush to meet you. Sans and Stretch move at their own, sluggish pace.

“Sorry about that,” you say, carefully propping the bug screen on the railings of the porch, and returning the loose, dented screws to your toolbox. “They broke during that storm we had.”

“No harm done, human!” Blue assure you cheerfully.

Blue is still donning his giant scarf, with a shirt that looks like it was far too big for him before he’d clumsily sliced it in half with a pair of blunt scissors. The shirt is decorated with stars, and the word _SuperStar!_ is emblazoned across the middle…however the _Star_ and the exclamation mark appear to have been scribbled onto the material with blue marker…

Papyrus has exchanged his enormous breastplate for a crop-top – though upon closer inspection, it seems that would fit a large human quite nicely, however, it obviously can’t accommodate Papyrus’s abnormal height. Like Blue, across the chest are the words _Cool Bean_ written in what looks like permanent marker, but you’re quickly distracted by what the shirt fails to cover; Papyrus’s spine…

It’s not as though you had forgotten that your new tenants were skeletons – such a thing would be quite hard to forget – but it’s so strange to see bare bones like that… The only naked skeletons you ever saw were the ones used in your biology lessons, hanging motionless from their metal hooks in the dusty corner of the classroom.

It’s both weirdly unsettling and unbelievably fascinating to see a spine move like that.

Sans and Stretch, on the other hand, don’t seem to own any other attire, though Sans has washed his sweater since you last saw him; that disturbing red stain is gone.

However, each of the brothers appear to have what looks like _glitter_ clinging to almost every inch of their clothes.

“Sorry to bug you,” Sans says, nodding to the bug screen. “Are we early?”

“Nope,” you assure him pleasantly, but you can’t stop thinking about that hole in the window – it’s going to play on your mind all day, now… “Do you need any help with your things?”

Papyrus and Blue puff out their chests.

“Fear not, human!” Blue says. “We are quite capable of carrying our own belongings!”

“Well, at least let me help unload the rest,” you press, trying – and failing – not to sound like your grandmother.

“The rest?” Papyrus looks confused, and lifts his heavy looking bags with ease. “This is all we have.”

You stare. “Really?” Two duffel bags full – that’s all? A pang of sympathy strikes you like an arrow to the chest.

“Yep!” Blue says cheerfully. “So where shall we put them?”

They really have nothing else? No furniture of their own…? You look to Sans and Stretch, and their empty hands. They meet your eyes with a wink each, but their aloofness doesn’t make you feel any better. They couldn’t possibly have had nothing of their own for five whole years… Unless they sold it all to pay for the house?

Oh, God… That just makes you feel worse.

“Human?” Papyrus’s voice draws your attention back to him. “Didn’t you hear us?”

“Where should we put our things?” Blue asks again, lifting the weighty bags like they’re filled with nothing but air.

“Um…in your rooms, I suppose,” you say.

Their returning smiles are bright enough to dispel the misery just a little.

You withdraw the hefty envelope from your back pocket containing the copies of the house keys. Your agent seems to be either the most popular in his firm, or the most competent at his job, since he was too busy with another client to hand over the keys today. He seemed quite happy to let you handle everything, certain that you are more than capable of welcoming your own tenants, though he was rather disappointed that he couldn’t meet them.

 _Skeletons?_ he’d said excitedly during your meeting. _That sounds fascinating! I’ll have to stop by one day!_

You think that perhaps that’s not best – he made them sound like some kind of attraction. Though you know he means no harm, his ignorance may not make him a friend to the brothers… 

“Nyeh-heh!” Papyrus chortles, brandishing his keys proudly once he’s swiped them from your weak grip. “I shall begin unpacking immediately! Human! Would you like to paint with me?”

“Paint?” You hand Blue his set of keys, which he takes with a gleeful _mweh-heh!_ “Right now?”

“Oh, no, not right now!” Papyrus says. “I have already ordered the perfect colours. I’m just waiting for them to be delivered!”

“Oh, and me!” Blue cries. “Would you like to paint with me, human?”

“Sure,” you say earnestly. “I can bring the duct tape.”

Papyrus and Blue look horrified.

“What in the Angel’s name would you need duct tape for?” Blue splutters.

“To put on all of the frames,” you say incredulously. Good heavens, have they never painted a room before? “And all along the edges of the floor. It’s so the paint doesn’t get anywhere.”

“Oh!” Blue sags. “Of course! What a good idea! I’ve never thought of that…I used to just paint very carefully with a small paintbrush!”

The image of Blue painstakingly painting around the edges of a doorframe with a small, fine paintbrush manages to make you laugh and inwardly cringe at the same time. You glance at his modified shirt, then at Papyrus’s; great and magnificent though they may proclaim to be, DIY masters, they are not.

“So did I!” Papyrus says, and he elbows Blue good-naturedly. “It seems that we’ll have to brush up on our painting skills!”

“Ah, good one,” you say with a smile – you’re surprised that Sans didn’t make the joke first.

Papyrus frowns. “Good one, what? What are you talking about?”

“The…the joke,” you say. “Brush…painting? It was clever.”

Papyrus looks genuinely confused. “I made no joke… I merely drew attention to my time-consuming painting practises. Which the great Papyrus will promptly perfect to professional levels!” He laughs victoriously. “I never settle for anything less!”

That was odd, but Papyrus may have misheard you, so you dismiss it. “Do you guys need anything to eat?” you ask.

Blue shakes his head. “No, thank you!”

“We ate before we got here!” Papyrus adds. “We stopped by one of Mettaton’s restaurants!”

Oh…that explains all the glitter.

You only nod – just yesterday, you stopped by a rather popular supermarket built exclusively for monsters so you could stock up the fridge with essentials for when the brothers moved in – to give them one less thing to worry about.

Stepping into that store was like falling headfirst into a completely different world. The shelves were lined with colourful – or what your grandmother would call _far too OTT_ – and vibrant brands that you didn’t recognise. Though it didn’t take long for _MTT Brand_ to start overtaking the shelves; _MTT Brand Glamburger, MTT Brand Steak In The Shape Of Mettaton’s Face, MTT Brand Starfait…_ All with extra glitter.

The cat-like store clerk had been very helpful when she caught you struggling in the fruit and vegetable aisle – apparently a crab-apple for monsters is quite literally an apple shaped like a crab – and offered to show you around the store when you had explained that you were buying for your new monster neighbours.

 _We get quite a lot of curious humans_ , she had said. _But they, like, totally get lost and stuff._

She was funny – you wish you could remember her name…

Thankfully, each item was priced in both GOLD and its equivalent in human currency. You remember during the first year after the Barrier shattered, there was a huge debate about the GOLD that the monsters used – for a time, the humans of Ebott believed it to be real gold, despite the protests of the monsters, who claimed that it was actually pyrite, or _fool’s gold_. Of course, once it was established that the monsters were telling the truth, their GOLD immediately lost all value as a currency in the eyes of the banks, effectively making every single monster who had climbed from Mt. Ebott dirt poor…resulting in the shelters and the many months of legal talks.

But the monsters were rather smart about the entire debacle – they continued using GOLD amongst themselves for their wares, and once their products has attracted the attention of the curious humans, suddenly the entire city was abuzz with finding as much fool’s gold as it could.

But, of course, with the curious humans came the curious investors, hoping to find out what, exactly, was so enchanting about the monsters’ products, while theirs gathered dust in warehouses…

“Well, let me know if you need anything,” you say.

“Thanks, kid,” Sans says before Papyrus can, “but don’t sacri-fries your afternoon running around after us.”

Papyrus glares at his brother. “God, _must_ you? That wasn’t even clever!”

Sans clutches his chest. “You’re bacon my heart, Pap…”

“Urgh!” Blue scowls, rubbing his temples – you have to stifle laughter when you see the clear resemblance to Scar. “It’s like I’m in pun hell!”

“You mean…burger-tory?” Stretch says, withdrawing a cigarette from his pocket and placing it between his teeth. “You okay, bro?” he says to Blue. “Looks like somethin’s eatin’ you.”

“Don’t you dare!” Blue warns him with a quivering finger.

The corners of Stretch’s jaw curve ever so slowly into a sly, almost evil grin. “You want to taco ‘bout it?”

Papyrus and Blue look _livid_.

“Oh my God! Shut _up!_ ” they both screech, before turning on their heels and sprinting for the house. They scramble through the door as though they’re desperate to escape all the terrible jokes, and you faintly hear them thundering up the stairs at a break-neck speed.

“How long have they been looking forward to this?” you ask the remaining skeletons.

“Since they saw the house,” Stretch mumbles around his cigarette, smoke floating from the burning end – he must have lit it while you were watching his brothers run towards the house for dear life.

“And I know what _that look_ was about,” Sans says when he takes his keys from you. “But seriously, don’t worry. We’re gonna pick up the rest of our stuff tonight.”

“Oh, thank God!” you sigh. “I thought you had to sell it all!”

“Nah,” Stretch says, taking the keys you offer him. “We just couldn’t be bothered to lug it all over here at once. I’ll be runnin’ in and out, if that’s cool?”

You shrug. “It’s your house now, too, you know? Come and go as you please. I’ll probably spend the day hauling my crap from the attic, anyway.”

“You’re not gonna finish up out here?” Sans asks, eyeing the failed bug screen.

“No,” you say with a weak laugh. “I’ll try again tomorrow…or I think I’ll get a professional to do it after that scare.”

“Personally, I’d go with the ladder,” Stretch says, and a glittering cloud of purple smoke leaks from between his teeth.

“Yeah,” you say and brandish the drill, pulling the trigger twice. “Screw it.”

Stretch takes a long drag from his cigarette before he nods approvingly. “I knew I liked you.”

You retrieve your toolbox, grinning like an absolute fool. “I should have done it long before today, and the universe is definitely punishing me for being lazy. First, I got sick, then the new screens took forever to be delivered.” You shrug, gesturing to the ladder. “And then I almost died.”

“The universe is cruel like that,” Sans says with a strange twist to his smile – you can’t quite tell if that smile is harmless or not…there’s definitely another layer to it that you don’t understand.

And in his eyes, you can see that judgement again.

Apprehension bubbles in your stomach. “Do you need any help?” you ask hesitantly. “With your stuff, I mean? I have a car…”

Immediately, the hostility in Sans’s expression vanishes, and he winks. “Nope. I haven’t got much stuff anyway.”

Though he appears at ease, you can’t seem to shake off the discomfort. Should you apologise? But…what for? That judgement in his eyes is infuriating – what does he seem to see in you that unsettles him?

“Well,” you say, perhaps a little too tightly, “at least let me get you a drink. I’d feel like a terrible host if I don’t.”

Sans holds his hands up in surrender. “I guess you’ve forced me.”

“I can bring one out for you,” you say to Stretch, glancing at his strange cigarette, “if you’d like?”

“Hmm, nah.” Stretch rolls the cigarette between his teeth, and a deep, honey-coloured glow uncurls from within the darkness of his jaw. It’s a tongue…just like Slim’s, only darker. It looks almost like gelatine, and, strangely, you want to touch it.  

A voice that sounds frighteningly like your grandmother’s snaps in your head; _Don’t touch the tenant’s tongues, dear._

While you watch, enraptured, Stretch coils his tongue around the cigarette…

And he eats it.

Your fascination moulds into disgust, and your not-so-subtle gaping becomes an obvious gawking. “Did you just…?”

Stretch laughs, and purple smoke pours from his mouth, unfurling from within the strange void behind his teeth. “Ain’t no sense in wasting it, is there?”

Your eyes drift down his chest, pausing where his stomach would be. Is the cigarette just going to fall out? You want to lift his sweater to check…

 _Don’t undress the tenants, dear_ , your grandmother scolds again.

“Hmm, okay,” you mumble dumbly. Monsters really are _weird_ …

You lead the brothers into the house, thinking that perhaps your grandmother decided to haunt her precious garden after all, summoned from the afterlife by Stretch’s smoke.

“Thanks, Grandma,” you whisper.

-

“I was going to ask you,” you say after taking a sip of lemonade, “I’d really like to cook for you guys tonight.”

It’s a tremendous effort not to flinch when Sans knocks back a mouthful of ketchup. You’d honestly though that he’s been messing with you when he refused a glass of lemonade and requested a bottle of ketchup instead. But when Stretch also refused the cooler beverage and asked if you had any honey stocked up, you relented.

However, while you had plenty of monster-branded ketchup, you had no honey, but Stretch happily accepted a jar of human brand honey…and is chugging the thick, gooey substance down seemingly without trouble.

Your gaze keeps drifting down to their shirts, searching for stains, but it seems that the condiments are quickly lost within the strange void within their skulls. Where the hell does it all go when swallowed by that deep blackness?

“Would that be okay with you?” you ask.

“Sure,” Sans says, seated at kitchen table. “But why?”

You shrug. “To welcome you to the house. And it gives you one less thing to be worried about, since you’re going to be moving in all day. I figured that you wouldn’t have time to shop for food.”

“Well, damn,” Stretch says, and he relaxes back against the kitchen counter, “I feel at home, already. You come with the house, right?”

You laugh. “Pretty much. By the way…” You walk out into the entrance hall to fetch Stretch’s rubber chicken that you left perched on the coat hooks just behind the front door.

When you return to the kitchen with it in hand, he chuckles. “My brave soldier…I thought I’d lost him on the front line.”

“I was going to cook him,” you joke. “But I thought he’d taste a little too rubbery.”

Stretch feigns mortification. “How dare you? Then his sacrifice in the name of comedy would have been in vain.”

“Don’t worry,” you say, “I’ve decided to wing it, instead.”

“Oh-ho…” Stretch swallows another mouthful of honey, and his ever present grin curls into a mischievous smile. “You’re gonna be fun.”

“Heh, though all these jokes are crackin’ me up,” Sans says to you, “what were you planning on making? Papyrus wanted to cook with Blue tonight.”

“They can help, if they want?” you offer. “I have zero experience with monster food, so I’d actually appreciate that.” When it registers that Sans referred to Blue by your given nickname, you smile. “I know I was joking when I said I’d cook the chicken, but I thought maybe we could try something meat based…but the monster version. The meat is…ground water sausage?” you add hesitantly. “I’d never heard of anything like it, so I tried one.”

Sans seems pleased. “They’re pretty good, right?”

You nod; they really are, but you know that you could never survive on them. The store clerk at the supermarket –

 _Catty!_ That was her name!

– not-so-subtlety reminded you that you couldn’t really eat any of the products.

 _But, like, you can totally get high off it_ , she’d added. _Apparently_.

The magic imbued in the food certainly did make you feel a little giddy. Though unable to sustain humans, monster food became the new drug for people to gorge themselves on without the added fear of facing any long lasting side-effects.

After the investors who had followed the curious humans, looking to buy monster products, had discovered that the magic within the monster food could miraculously heal, the insurance and pharmaceutical companies when absolutely ballistic, demanding that such a thing be sold at extortionate prices in drug stores, and some distributed as part of healthcare benefits.

The bill would have made the monsters richer than they could have imagined overnight, until the pharmaceutical companies discovered that monster food could only cure ailments that could easily go away on their own with time. A long-term sickness, or a terminal illness wouldn’t disappear overnight; an amputated limb would not somehow grow back; and scars would merely fade the smallest bit.

Still, food that could sew up an open wound? Disperse a headache within seconds? That was something to behold…so within weeks, the monsters were far more well off than they were days after descending Mt. Ebott.

Or…some of them were.

The shelters remained filled with the monsters whose specialities didn’t lie with food. And not only that, but the price of monster food _soared_ because of it’s incredible value. No one could afford it – not even monsters. After the – admittedly rather charming – ambassador for monsters pointed out that to raise the prices of monster food simply because they could heal humans would be not only problematic for the monsters – since to them, it was _sustenance_ , and they needed it to survive – but it would also deny the humans the basic right to what they now considered healthcare.

And what better way to endear the human populace to monsters than to offer them something so wonderful?

A compromise was made, somehow…thanks to the ambassador’s natural talent of charming the pants off of everyone in the same room.  

“They’d like that,” Stretch says, scooping out a large dollop of honey from the jar.

You squirm when he swallows it all in one go. That’s a _lot_ of sugar… Is human food to monsters what monster food is to humans? Do they get some kind of high from it? You can’t imagine that they do – there’s no magic in it…

Stretch finishes off the honey and nods in the direction of the entrance hall. “Welp, I’d better get my stuff before tiny throws it all from the balcony.”

“Do you happen to know when the others will get here?” you ask, and hold out your hand to take the empty jar – jeez, that jar was full when you gave it to him.

“Tiny never tells anyone anything,” Stretch replies, sweeping his odd tongue over his honey-covered fingers. “And, uh…edge-lord is feelin’ a little sore. He probably won’t get here until the very last minute.”

Oh, dear…is Boss embarrassed? He hasn’t forced Red to text you since Sans dropped off the contracts, and Red himself hasn’t texted you, either because Boss may have forbidden him to out of sheer frustration, or he’s still angry with you for being nosey…   

“There’s something I’ve got to ask,” you say, “because it’s killing me. How did you sort between the rooms?”

“We left that to them,” Sans says, gulping down another mouthful of ketchup. “Pappy and Blue figured it out their usual way, by flipping a coin. Heh…but Blue rigged it…he always does. He pretty much gave Paps the bigger room.”

You think back to the day of the tour, when Papyrus casually mentioned that he was naturally good at games of chance…with Blue smiling at him all the while, cheeks flushed. “Aw, that’s so sweet of him.”

“Heh, he claims that there was no dignity in taking more than what he needs,” Stretch says, “but I think he became pretty conscious of Paps hitting his head on the ceiling of the apartment after the tour. He felt pretty bad about it. Don’t tell him that we said he rigged it, though. He insisted that Paps won fair and square.”

“And Pappy believes it, too,” Sans adds. “Just roll with it.”

You nod. “What a good sport. What about Scar and Boss?”

The skeletons’ grins turn grim.

“We told them to take it outside,” Sans says. “They came back the next day with their news.”

“They didn’t…actually physically fight over it, did they?” You really hope that they hadn’t – such a thing is not worth getting hurt over.  

Sans only shrugs. “I dunno…but weirdly, the dogs were gone for most of the day, too.”

“Do you think that they had something to do with it?” you ask. You wouldn’t be surprised; Red and Slim certainly seem very loyal to those brothers in particular, going so far as to address them as _m’lord_ and _boss_ …but you hope that they didn’t get into some kind of fight with each other, either.

You decide against asking Sans and Stretch why Red is willingly paying for Boss’s room – they may not know, and he may not want them to.

“Oh, definitely,” Stretch says, and pulls a cigarette from his pocket. After placing it between his teeth, he shrugs away from the counter and heads towards the living room. As he passes you, he gives you a light, parting pat to the shoulder. “If my bro…Blue asks, just tell him I’m picking up some stuff. Take good care of Duck for me.”

“Will…Duck?”

Stretch chuckles. “C’mon, So-Confused…you named him.”

You glance down at the rubber toy still in your hands. “You mean the chicken?”

But Stretch is already half-way across the living room when you look up. You keep your eyes glued to his back. _Teleport…come on!_

“So,” Sans draws your attention back to him, “answer me this…”

You reluctantly turn back to face him…and your heart drops into your gut.

While shopping for food, you had also managed to snap up a book: _The Myth and Magic of Monsters and Men_ , a collection of essays and studies written by monster scholars over the many years spent in the Underground. It seemed to be a very informative text; the contents listed various titles that detailed monster customs and elements of their history, and there’s even an entire chunk of the book dedicated to specific monster magics that you can’t wait to get to.

Not only that, but it touches on the magic of humans, too, before it became so rare among them that it was soon dismissed as legend – it almost seemed like karma had been at work, since your history books always implied that human magic began to die out since the day the monsters were sealed beneath Mt. Ebott.

You hadn’t gotten too far through; you were still only on the first chapter; _Myth and Magic: Part I – Monsters._

And you’d forgotten that you’d left it on the kitchen table.

Now, it’s open in Sans’s hand.

“In the five years monsters have been free,” he says casually, “have you ever once spoken to a monster?”

Your cheeks burn with indignation and the lemonade churns in your stomach. “Of course I have!” You pause. “In passing.”

Sans’s smile is reassuring. “I’m not saying that to put you on the spot, or anything. It’s a genuine question.”

“I hardly ever go into the city,” you admit. “And you don’t see a lot of monsters all the way out in the sticks.”

“What do you think so far?” Sans gestures to the book.

The unpleasantness in your stomach eases. “It’s very interesting. I had no idea that there was so much more to monster history! I mean, I’m not very far in, but already I’ve learned more than I was ever taught in school.”

“Uh-huh…” Sans lazily flicks through the book, downing another mouthful of ketchup. “What were you taught in school?”

Your skin goes cold. You should probably be honest, but you wouldn’t exactly be thrilled to hear that people were teaching young children that your species were dangerous, hostile, and capable of things one could only dream up in nightmares.

Soul-stealers, demons, terrible creatures of incredible power…

Imagine the world’s embarrassment when the monsters turned out to be the exact opposite of what they were always believed to be.

“That look says _not the nicest things_ ,” Sans says wryly. 

“No,” you say apologetically, “they weren’t the nicest things.”

And at least, thanks to the increasingly popular and sweet-as-all-heck ambassador, school curriculums all over Ebott were rapidly changing, rectifying the outdated history.

Sans only shrugs. “Everyone thinks they’re a hero, don’t they? Humans…monsters… Each one is capable of…” He thinks for a moment, sweat beading at his temples. “Y’know, you could believe that you’re doing the right thing, even if it means that other people get hurt…but as long as you keep telling yourself that it’s the right thing to do…”

He blinks up at you. “You see what I’m trying to say?”

“My grandfather said something to me, once…” you say slowly – you can clearly picture him slouched in his favourite armchair, watching the breaking news five years ago in the room just next door, as the monsters descended Mt. Ebott. “He said that, sometimes, people are so afraid of themselves that they will try to search for the worst in others.”

You stare at the book in Sans’s hand. “I think, over time…after the monsters were gone…humans may have realised that their fear was for nothing…or they became _aware_ of how cruel they could really be. Humans became afraid of themselves, but they didn’t want to admit it. They needed someone else to blame, so they resorted to making monsters these terrible, awful beings to justify what they did by sealing them away. When the monsters walked free, everyone was surprised…and probably really embarrassed.”

A lot of the children you teach like to use the _yeah-but-he-said-she-said_ excuse to deter from their own abysmal behaviour. Such a thing you would have thought that people would grow out of as they got older, but no…they simply became less obvious…

You shrug. “I think that’s what my grandfather was trying to tell me, anyway.”

You meet Sans’s eyes, and you’re expecting to see that judgement in them again, but instead, he’s studying you like you’re some kind of anomaly, contemplating your words.

Sweat gathers on your upper lip. Did you say something wrong? Or did you end up sounding really patronising?

After a long moment of just staring at you, he slowly closes the book and drains the ketchup bottle in one go. “Your grandfather sounds like a cool guy.”

Heat rushes to your neck. “Uh…thanks.”

Sans places both the book and the empty ketchup bottle on the table and hops off the chair. “Heh, wow, look at the time...my break’s over.”

You glance at the clock on the fridge. “You’re supposed to be at work?” The brothers arrived almost a whole hour ago – that was the longest break ever!

“Hmm, yeah,” Sans says breezily. “It doesn’t matter. The guy covering me won’t care. Good talk, kid. You’re alright.”

The burning heat spreads to your cheeks, and all the way to the tips of your ears. “I’m sorry,” you blurt. “I didn’t mean to sound all preachy.”

Sans waves a dismissive hand and winks at you. “Sweetheart, trust me, I’ve heard preachy. Forget about it. By the way…” He lifts his shirt to expose his ribs. “Just in case you were worried that I’d get ketchup all over your nice kitchen floor.” His smile is teasing. “Your eyes were burnin’ holes through my shirt.”

“Oh, jeez,” you moan. “I’m so sorry!”

Sans drops his shirt. “Eh, everyone does it.”

“Do monsters?” you venture.

“Oh, yeah.” Sans picks at his teeth. “Couldn’t tell you where it all goes, though.”

You huff with disbelief. “You don’t even know?”

Sans shrugs again; clearly his default answer. “What can I say? I’m complicated.”

He makes his way towards the front door, and you follow in his wake after quickly retrieving your book, tucking it beneath your arm beside the rubber chicken.

“Hey…” Sans pauses in the entrance hall. “Thanks for the ketchup.”

“Ah…you’re welcome?” You force a smile; the image of Sans guzzling down copious amounts of ketchup is forever burned into your brain. “I hope I got the good stuff.”

“It was alright. Want a recommendation?” Sans leans towards you and whispers behind his hand playfully. “Grillby’s has _the best_ ketchup.”

You have no idea what a _Grillby’s_ is, but you nod and flash him a thumbs up. “I’ll check it out.”

With a low chuckle, Sans turns and reaches for the front door. “See ya.”

You hold the door open for him – you didn’t manage to get that doormat in the end; every print shop you went to refused to write anything that contained profanity, so you ended up ordering it online, instead. It still hasn’t arrived… 

You watch Sans lumber down the path, hardly daring to blink in case you miss him disappearing. When he reaches the road, he pauses, glancing left, then right…then turns left and trundles along the sidewalk.

You snort – the bus stop is in the opposite direction. Surely he’s not going to walk all the way to work? There’s nothing around for miles, unless some new café that you’re unaware of has recently opened up somewhere?

You watch him like a hawk, keeping your eyes trained on the retreating bright blue blob that is his jacket, until you have to lean out of the door to keep him in your sights. You stumble out onto the porch…but you must have blinked, because suddenly you can’t see the blue of his jacket anymore.

He’s vanished.

“ _God damn it!_ ” you hiss, and return to the house, slamming the door forcefully behind you.

As you do, you hear your grandmother’s voice in your mind: _It’s rude to stare, dear_.  

“Yeah, thanks, Grandma,” you mutter. You’ll _definitely_ catch them one day.

Attempting to reel in your frustration, you march up the stairs to check on Papyrus and Blue, carrying with you your new book, and your unexpected extra tenant; a rubber chicken called Duck.

Papyrus has left his bedroom door wide open, and you can hear him moving furniture about, occasionally chuckling to himself gleefully.

You perch in the doorway and watch him arrange his collection of clothes in the closet, organising them by colour. It appears that he’s emptied his duffel bags while you were drinking with his brothers, and already your room looks nothing like it did an hour ago.

Most of the furniture has been rearranged to his liking; he’s pushed the bed into a corner, and has taped an impressive assortment of Mettaton posters on the walls surrounding it, each one carefully placed into a very neat collage, and in the centre of them all is a large, black pirate flag. On the desk is a vast collection of action figures consisting of superheroes and robots, all arranged in a particular formation – it’s as though they are preparing for an epic battle; superheroes versus robots.

Papyrus has already filled the small bookshelf with a decent collection of books, all arranged by colour, and has replaced your plain, white bedsheets for his own, and folded neatly atop the pillows are a pair of pyjamas with spaghetti and meatballs printed all over them.

“How’s it going, Pappy?” you ask.

Papyrus turns and beams at you. “Human! What do you think?” He strides into the middle of the room, throwing his arms out wide. “Once it’s painted, I do think that it will look quite amazing!”

“It sure will, Pappy,” you say. “I came to see if you needed anything.”

“Well, I do need a few more things,” Papyrus says, glancing at a bare corner of the room. “I will need another desk for my new computer! At the moment, I can only access the internet on my phone, but Sans said that he would get me one once we’d moved in!”

“I might have a spare table in the attic, somewhere,” you say. “I can get it for you, if you’d like?”

Papyrus nods gratefully. “That would be very much appreciated!” With a cheerful _nyeh-heh_ , he returns to sorting through his closet.

“By the way,” you say quickly, “I’m going to cook for you tonight. I was wondering if you wanted to help me?”

Papyrus turns back to you and his face lights up. “Oh, no, no! I said that I would cook for _you_ , human!”

“But I want to cook for _you_ ,” you argue.

Papyrus shakes his head. “Human, I insist! But…I suppose that you cannot eat our food…”

You hurry to placate him when the joy in his eyes dims, and his smile begins to droop. “I can still enjoy it, though!” It may give you no real nutritional value, but you could always treat it as some indulgence food, like Stretch seemed to do with the honey…

“I guess…” Papyrus chuckles. “If it makes you feel better, then you may observe! I would love to pass on my culinary wisdom to you! There is no better way to make friends!”

You heart flips at that word: _friends_.

Jeez, what a cutie.

“Okay, then. Have any experience with ground water sausage?”

Papyrus props his chin in his hand and hums. “Hmm, no. Sans probably has…but worry not! The great Papyrus, expert cook, is a natural when it comes to new recipes!”

You add another mental note to your ever growing list of mental notes to look up a recipe on the internet, just to be safe. Papyrus may claim to be a natural in the kitchen, but you’ve learned from past experiences that just winging a new recipe is never a good idea.

You squeeze a quick, farewell squawk from Duck. “Alright. I’ll bring that table right down.”

“Yes, yes!” Papyrus waves a hand in your direction, attention returning to the closet. “Thank you!”

You linger a moment longer, watching him excitedly shuffle through his many outfits with a smile so genuine your lips automatically pull into a smile of their own, before marching up the stairs leading to the third floor.

Like Papyrus, Blue has rearranged all of the furniture in his room. Though it’s hardly small, Papyrus would have had to remain in a constant stoop had he taken either one of the third floor rooms. For Blue, however, the room is close to perfect.  

He seems to have somehow co-ordinated with Papyrus – the furniture has been rearranged into the same floorplan, though reversed; the bed is in the opposite corner to where Papyrus moved his, and there’s a table with Blue’s own collection of figurines parallel to Papyrus’s.

Their rooms are right on top of one another; it’s as though you’ve stepped through a mirror, and you’re now living in the reflection. The only things missing are posters of Mettaton surrounding the pirate flag taped above the bed.

Blue is kneeling by his bookcase, sorting through a large pile of books, muttering the titles to himself, ensuring that they’re carefully placed in alphabetical order. “Hmm… _Paradigms of Puzzles_ …comes before _Peek-a-Boo with Fluffy Bunny_ …” Satisfied, he places the books on the half-filled shelf and retrieves another, thick book from the pile beside him.  

You gently squeeze a quiet wheeze out of Duck to get his attention without frightening him.

“Ah-hah! Human!” Blue turns to you eagerly, eyes sparkling, clutching the book he’s currently holding to his chest. “I’m glad you came! I –” His smile drops when he spots the chicken. “Oh…Pap still has that thing?”

Though it’s odd to see such an expression on his face, even his frown is cute. “ _Thing?_ ” you moan. “Oh, Blue, how could you? He’s called Duck.”

Blue laughs humourlessly. “ _Duck?_ That’s just going to confuse him! He’ll end up having an identity crisis later in life!”

“We can explain it to him when he’s older,” you say. “I’m just getting something from the attic for Pappy. Do you need anything? I can see if I have it.”

“Mweh-heh!” Blue jumps up. “Clearly we are on the same wavelength! Yes! I require another table for my new computer, and a slightly larger bookcase!”

You think hard. “I should have another table up there, somewhere…but I don’t think I have another bookcase. Sorry, Blue.”

Blue shakes his head. “Not to worry, human! I shall retrieve one at a later date! But another table would be nice!”

“You’ve got it.” You gaze around the bedroom. “So…you got the smaller room, huh?”

A deep, navy hue blooms on Blue’s cheeks. “Mweh-heh…yes. Rest assured, it was won quite fairly! Pappy was the victor, and I accepted loss with grace befitting a Royal Guardsman!”

Your cheeks are starting to ache from all the smiling. “I’m sure you did, Blue.”

“Yes, I certainly did not cheat in any way!” Blue barrels on, his entire face turning blue. “The coin fell in Pappy’s favour, and was definitely not influenced to land heads-up!”

“I believe you, Blue,” you say.

“And so you should!” Blue says, one hand on his hip. “Besides…Pappy deserved the bigger room. This room may not be as magnificent, but it has it’s own kind of charm!”

While he celebrates his own not-so-cunning-cunning, you spot the title of the book nestled in the crook of his arm: _Advanced Puzzle Construction For Critical Minds_.

“You like puzzles?” you ask. Your grandfather loved sudoku – maybe you can give Blue his unfinished books instead of throwing them out?

“Very much!” Blue replies. “Pappy tried to rig our apartment with lots of elaborate puzzles, but the human who owned the building said that we would have to pay for damages, so I told him to tone it down a little…”

Rig? As in _rig traps?_ “What do you mean by that, Blue?” you ask tentatively.

“Oh, you know,” Blue says, “to stop intruders! Pappy wanted to install a spike pit outside our front door, but we weren’t allowed to do that, so I helped him construct something slightly smaller. But the landlord caught us.” Blue tuts. “It was ridiculous, really! It wouldn’t have hurt anyone!””

You swallow – perhaps sudoku would be a little too tame for him.

“I can’t wait to start creating puzzles for this house!” Blue cries with glee. “I could probably put a trap door at the bottom of the stairs, and –”

“Um, Blue…?” you stop him, cringing at the thought of your house becoming some kind of puzzle-based death trap of _Saw_ -movie-levels. You house is already considered scary enough. “Please don’t do that.”

Blue deflates. “Oh…but why? They wouldn’t get anyone hurt! It would only incapacitate them for a time. I have been very careful to create puzzles that merely confound and amaze! Since leaving the Underground, of course…”

“Well…” You really hate that look of absolute dismay on his face. “It’s just that…this house is rather old, and adding tra– puzzles to it may not be a good idea. Maybe you could create some…mental puzzles?”

The suggestion seems to work – Blue’s brow furrows, and in his eyes you can see his mind working. “Mental puzzles?”

“Yeah,” you say, relieved. “Like the Sphinx? _You must answer my riddle to pass through my gate_ , and that kind of stuff?”

“Riddles… Ah!” Blue snaps his fingers. “I have plenty of those!” He rushes to his half-filled bookshelf and withdraws a thick looking book and presents it to you. “Mweh-heh! See!”

You scan the title: _The Biggest Riddle Book In The World_.

“Perfect!” you say. “Maybe you can challenge any intruders with a riddle. If they can’t answer it, then –”

“Then I capture them!” Blue interrupts with vigour.

Your stomach drops. “N-no…” you stammer. “Um…that’s not…”

But Blue just laughs. “Human, you are so gullible! I haven’t captured a human since leaving the Underground!”

 _Oh, thank God…_ You release a breath of relief, feeling a little silly. Of course it was all a joke…no sane person – or monster – would install trapdoors and spike pits in their own home... Right? “Wow, Blue… You really had me, there.”

Blue beams. “Mweh-heh! Now, human…” His smile turns mischievous. “Allow me to test one of my many mental mysteries!”

“Go ahead,” you challenge. “Give me your best.”

“I am not alive, but I have five fingers.” Blue’s gaze is expectant. “What am I?”

You almost say _skeleton_ , but since Blue is technically a monster, not some undead creature – at least, you _hope_ that he isn’t – you decide not to. It may upset him…

“What happens if I don’t get it right?” you ask warily.   

Blue shakes his head. “This is merely a test! Nothing will happen! I just want to ensure that my riddles are truly confounding and confusing!”

“Oh, okay…” You think hard. Five fingers…not alive… Maybe the answer _is_ a skeleton after all? Although it seems obvious, perhaps Blue is the type to go for the simple answers, the answers that make you second guess yourself…

“A… _human_ skeleton?” you try.

That may very well have been the correct answer, because Blue’s eyes light up…but there’s smug victory in his incredible smile. He hold out his hand and wiggles his fingers, and the leather of his glove creaks with each movement.

“A glove!” he says.

“Ah…dang it,” you groan. “Of course! Well, consider me confounded.”

Blue chuckles. “But I suppose you’re right, too! A human skeleton is not alive, and it has five fingers. Mweh-heh…that is quite humorous. I’ll remember that next time!”

With a final triumphant _mweh-heh_ , he returns to his bookshelf, and you chuckle softly – _skeleton_ … _humorous_ …though he claims to really hate them, doesn’t he realise that he just made a pun?  

You watch him shuffle through his books for a minute longer, seriously hoping that _everything_ he’d said was part of the joke, before saying, “I’ve already asked Pappy, but could you show me how to cook for monsters tonight?”

“Absolutely!” Blue replies, turning back around to flash you a confident smile. “I shall dazzle you with my skills of the stove and my mastery of meals!”

“Great,” you say, and lift Duck, pressing another soft wheeze from the squeaker. “Can you cook chicken? We’ll be eating him.”

Blue’s expression quickly changes from one of delight to one of disbelief. “What? No! That’s a terrible idea! It’s made of rubber! It can’t possibly taste good!”

“Aw, come on,” you tease, waving Duck from side to side teasingly. “I thought it was an egg-cellent idea.”

Blue drops his books and presses his fists to the sides of his skull. “Nooo! He’s tainted you! _Papyrus!_ ”

Your giggle is cut short when you catch the sound of rapid footsteps ascending the stairs. Within seconds, Papyrus crests the staircase, eyes wild.

“You called?” he says to Blue. To you, he says, “Human! Is everything alright?”

“Oh, sorry, Pappy!” Blue says to him. “I meant my brother.”

… That confuses you – aren’t they all brothers?

“Is Pap down there?” Blue asks you impatiently.

 _If my bro…Blue asks…_ He must mean Stretch. “He’s picking up some stuff.”

Blue shakes his head in dismay. “I’m going to have to give him a stern talking to when he comes back!”

“Why is that?” Papyrus asks.

Blue points a quivering finger at you. “The human has been blighted by my brother’s abysmal sense of humour!”

The noise that Papyrus makes in response sounds as though he’s just been delivered the worst news of his life. Before you can speak, he grabs you by the shoulders and hunkers down so his panic-filled eyes are level with yours.

“Human!” he says gravely. “Listen to me! Such humour is mediocre and of the lowest form! You must rise above it!”

“Uh…” You want to laugh at the seriousness in Papyrus’s eyes, but you school your face into a neutral expression – not without some difficulty, however. “Sure. I can try...”

Papyrus and Blue sigh a little too dramatically.

“There is hope for her, yet!” Papyrus assures Blue.

“Thank God!” Blue gasps.

“Thanks, guys,” you say, smiling as sincerely as you can without making it seem obvious that you’re trying to hold back laughter. “I really appreciate the help. In fact…” You hold Duck level with Papyrus’s face. “…I’m quite _clucky_ to have you looking out for me!”

In tandem, Papyrus and Blue howl with despair.

-

You hadn’t noticed earlier, but before he’d left, Sans had folded down a particular page in your new book.

After hauling down a couple of spare desks for Papyrus and Blue, and spending several hours deciding between them, you parked yourself on the front porch of the house with a mug of tea and _The Myth and Magic of Monsters and Men_ in your lap, before you commenced with the gruelling task of sorting through all of the boxes in the attic.

Though the folded down page is farther into the book than you are, you decide to take a peek at it, anyway, occasionally sipping your tea.

 

**_Monsters, Magic, and the Power of SOULs – Introduction_ **

_A monster’s matter is made purely of magic. Their physiology greatly differs from a human’s, whose bodies and organs need particular nutrients to survive, whereas a monster need only rely on maintaining high reserves of magic to remain healthy. While monsters are mostly made of magic, humans are mostly made of water. With their physical matter, they are far stronger than us – however, they will never know the joy of expressing themselves through magic. Their magic is subdued, locked within the deepest parts of their SOULs, rendered useless over years of neglect – only those born a **Sorcerer** [see CATEGORY: Sorcerer, pg. 505] are capable of full magical expression._

_As such, monsters are particularly in tuned to the SOUL. However, while there are a limited number of monsters whose magic is so powerful that their SOUL can persist after death, typically known as a **Boss** [see CLASSIFICATION: BOSS, pg. 243], all monsters are capable of performing what is known as a **perfect** **resonance.** _

_A perfect resonance, to put it bluntly, exposes the SOUL, or forces the **vessel** to align wholly with its SOUL in order to reduce their physical matter. During a perfect resonance, a human is at their weakest, and must rely on the untapped powers of their SOUL alone to defend themselves, something that they have, even to this day, never managed to wholly perfect. In layman terms, when a perfect resonance is performed, a human’s SOUL can be easily overpowered when reduced to purely magical matter. _

_However, there are certain monsters whose magic allows them to, when perfectly resonating with a SOUL – or even performing a **minor resonance** – affect them physically, and in some rare instances, mentally._

_Typical outcomes of such a resonance with a SOUL can result in the vessel experiencing **temporary paralysis** , [see CATEGORY: Paralysis, pg. 185] **increased or decreased body mass** , [see CATEGORY: Mass, pg. 189] an almost **magnetic pull to certain substances** , [see CATEGORY: Magnetismus, pg. 194] among other things. These are mainly physical afflictions, and affect the SOUL directly without influencing the vessel’s mind in any way. However, there are some cases that have documented incidents that detail a particular resonance that has resulted in the vessel’s psyche being altered or minutely affected._

_However, there is not enough evidence in said rare cases to suggest that a monster can wholly affect the vessel’s state of mind, meaning that they cannot force a SOUL to experience a certain feeling – for example; pain – by conducting a resonance alone. But rather by encouraging the vessel through a resonance to **believe that it is suffering more pain than is being inflicted physically** , it can lead to the vessel to surrender faster, and sometimes even accelerate death. [see CATEGORY: Delusion, pg. 235]_

_Nor have they proven that some monsters, through Delusion – or any type of magic – can resonate so seamlessly with a SOUL that they can create a two-way connection between monster and human. It is suggested by numerous theories that the monster initiating even a minor resonance can end up exhibiting certain traits of the SOULs vessel, and at times share in their emotions, their sense of touch, or even their thoughts. However, there has been no concrete evidence to verify this, and rumours concerning the subject have been constantly rejected by experts, and excused as mere myth and speculation. [see THEORY: Myth – Soul-Link, pg. 553]_

_However, despite humans’ inexperience with tapping into the raw power of their SOULs, the strength of the human SOUL allows it to persist indefinitely after death. This in itself presents an opportunity; if a monster defeats a human, they can take its SOUL._

_The power to take their SOULs. This is the power that the humans feared._

_The reason for such a fear can be explained, but hardly justified; to perform a perfect resonance is to enter a what we have come to refer to as a **CONFLICT**._

_While seen as a threatening act by humans, there is no other reason for a monster to perform a perfect resonance under any other circumstances other than self-defence. **The monster is always the initiator** , being so in-tune with the SOUL, however, to do so is considered a dangerous gamble, since should a monster choose not to fight during a CONFLICT, then they run the risk of handing power over to the enemy._

_A human’s SOUL is so powerful, that it would take an innumerable amount of monster SOULs to equal such strength. While humans cannot consciously use this power unless born a Sorcerer, and while a perfect resonance can expose a SOUL and reduce a human’s physical matter significantly enough to cause damage, engaging in a CONFLICT can ultimately awaken this dormant power hidden within, and trigger a human’s defences depending on their **trait** [see Part II – Humans. The SOUL and it’s Many Counterbalances, pg. 385]_

 

Intrigued, you skip to page three-hundred and eighty-five.

 

_Due to the notable differences between human and monster SOULs, every **human** SOUL is categorised by their own ‘traits’ coined by the human Sorcerers of old. The characteristics of each trait defines the human’s abilities and personality. But, like light and dark, and good and evil, with each trait comes an additional trait that counterbalances the SOUL, and will further define the nature of whom the SOUL belongs to._

_Where there is **patience** , there is always **sloth** ; where there is **bravery** , there is always **fear** ; where there is **integrity** , there is always **neutrality** ; where there is **perseverance** , there is always **despair** ; where there is **kindness** , there is always **hate** ; where there is **justice** , there is always **guilt** ; and where there is **determination** , there is always **defeat.**_

_What truly defines the human SOUL is dependent on what their **vessels** will choose to lead with. Should a brave SOUL act through fear, and not courage, they shall become impulsive, and will ultimately do more harm to their surroundings than good. [see TRAIT: BRAVERY, pg. 401] Likewise, should a kind SOUL – notably the weakest of all the SOULs – give in to hate and spite, they could develop the potential to do serious harm to others. [see TRAIT: KINDNESS, pg. 457] Should a persevering SOUL give in to despair, they may very well surrender the will to live, and bring harm unto themselves. [see TRAIT: PERSEVERANCE, pg. 439] A just SOUL is an **anomaly** , and may often be a result of, or result in, overwhelming guilt, and thus can be the most challenging of SOULs to properly define; however, currently, it is considered to be both a beginning and an end. [see TRAIT: JUSTICE, pg. 472] Should a true SOUL begin to lose faith, they lose their empathy, and can often cause harm by merely enabling violence. [see TRAIT: INTEGRITY, pg. 225] Should a patient SOUL –_

 

You flick back to the marked page, afraid of getting too far ahead of yourself – you want to read the entire book in page order, so you decide to finish the marked page, and then pick up from where you had originally left off during your own readthrough.

 

_– engaging in a CONFLICT can ultimately awaken this dormant power hidden within, and trigger a human’s defences depending on their **trait** [see Part II – Humans. The SOUL and it’s Many Counterbalances, pg. 385] Exposing the SOUL is to perfectly align the SOUL with its vessel, and this can often have severe consequences should a human become aware of the power of their trait being awakened._

_Now, when a monster chooses to cease fighting during a CONFLICT, its own magical defences will weaken. Because monster magic is dependent on will and hope, should a monster engaged in a CONFLICT lose that will, or experience a lapse in judgement, not only will their defences drop significantly, but their physical strength, too, will weaken._

_With the human’s own defences and strengths triggered during exposure, they, too, can hold a frightening power over a monster if they so wished it._

_Because of the raw, unbridled power of the SOUL, the cruller the intentions of our enemies, the more their attacks will hurt us. Therefore, if a being with a powerful SOUL is struck with the desire to kill –_

 

You decide to end the chapter there, feeling a little nauseous – it seems that humans were not the only ones deathly afraid of their rival species.

You should be getting on with cleaning out your mess, anyway. Draining the last of your tea, you tuck the book into the crook of your arm, and twist in place to push yourself to your feet –

You’re not alone.

You recognise the figure sprawled out on the porch beside you as Slim instantly, spotting his long, golden fang. His head is angled towards you, pillowed by his fur-lined hood, and his breathing is slow and deep, and so soft...but audible. Of course, he’s asleep.

How on earth did you not see him? How did you not _hear_ him? Unless he can somehow teleport, too? You take a deep breath, and catch the scent of warmed metal on the wind – the scent of his magic must have been masked by the boiling tea. Beneath the magical, metallic taste, there’s the same, sweet smell of Stretch’s cigarette smoke hovering about him – it’s actually not that bad; it’s not as harsh or as bitter as human tobacco.

You carefully search your surroundings, expecting Scar to suddenly jump out of nowhere and scream at his snoozing brother, or even spot Boss and Red loitering nearby, but the only skeleton present is the one dozing next to you.

You lean over him, inspecting his face. How are his eyes closed? They’re _sockets_. The shocking flexibility of his face is fascinating – maybe it’s not solid bone, but more like cartilage? You want to feel it pull and stretch beneath your fingers, to feel just how it moulds from one expression to another…

_Don’t molest the tenants, dear._

_Thanks, Grandma._ “Hello…?” you say gently.

Slim cracks an eye open. “Yo.”  

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Yeah. Nappin’.”

“I can see that.” You give the empty yard another quick scan. “Uh…where’s Sc–” You meet Slim’s upside-down eyes again, cheeks warming when he smirks. “Where’s your brother?”  

“You mean m’lord?”

You shiver when a particularly cold breeze floats by. “Y-yeah…”

Someone nearby clears their throat, and you look up to find Scar standing mere metres from you with his hands on his hips. There are three large duffel bags and a couple of plastic shopping carriers at his feet, and he’s tapping one red boot impatiently.

“Hi,” you blurt to cover up your squeak of surprise.

Scar inclines his head towards you by way of greeting, then fixes his red glare on Slim. “Get up, mongrel. Stop crowding the housekeeper.”

You blink. _Housekeeper?_

Slim groans and slowly rolls upright. “Yeah, yeah…”

Quicker than you can register, something large and heavy crashes into the side of his head, and you leap back with a yelp – your mug flies from your hand, clattering across the porch. When you gasp, you inhale a frigid gust of air and almost choke on the sharpness of it, prickling the back of your throat like frozen needles.

With a soft chuckle, Slim stands, lifting the object that attacked him – one of Scar’s duffel bags.

You didn’t see Scar throw it…it had shot from it’s position on the floor straight into the side of Slim’s skull as though propelled by some invisible force. Releasing a breath, you clutch a hand to your chest, over your frantic heart – it wasn’t so much the shock of witnessing magic that got you, but how suddenly, and how violently it was used.

“Make yourself useful and take these to my room,” Scar orders his brother, gesturing to the rest of his bags.

Slim nods. “Sure, m’lord.”

You stagger to your feet. “Please…allow me –”

Scar stops you with a hand. “The dog can do it.”

Your cheeks burn and an angry retort forms on the tip of your tongue, but you hold it back. Instead, you say, “No, no…please. I’d like to properly welcome you. Let me help.”

Scar sighs through his nose, a heavy frown creasing his brows. “If you insist.”

Chuckling, Slim hoists the remaining duffle bags onto his back while you retrieve the plastic carriers. A brand name you don’t recognise is printed across them, and they’re filled with what appears to be enough food to last several days if rationed properly…for one person.

“I can put these all away for you,” you offer. “I’ve actually stocked up the kitchen for you to last the week. So you didn’t need to…worry…”

You trail off at the sight of Scar’s face, pulled into a sneer.

“Filled with rubbish, no doubt,” he grumbles. “My idiot brothers can gorge themselves on it, for all I care. Ensure that the contents of those bags are kept _away_ from their swill…preferably in a cupboard of my own. I have had to endure weeks of my brothers’ appalling cooking, and I refuse to endure it another moment longer.”

Scar either cannot see the shock that must clearly be showing on your face, or chooses to ignore it. He holds out his hand. “I understand that we are to collect our keys from you.”

… Okay, that was _rude_. 

You’ve dealt with unhappy parents in the past, screaming at you for allowing their child to swallow a crayon when you were busy making sure the kid next to them stopped licking the glue stick; you’ve even dealt with pissed off customers in your retail days, complaining about the climbing prices that you had no control over…but the grief you received from them wasn’t without it’s reasons. Scar was just being downright disrespectful.  

Clearly you were wrong about him; he is more like Boss than you previously thought…just a little less boisterous.

You take a deep breath. Your grandmother always said that to do the kind thing was to do the _right_ thing, not just for praise. But, jeez…a simple _thank you_ would be nice.

Scar is still waiting to receive his key, arm outstretched and palm up, one foot tapping restlessly against the concrete slabs of the garden path.

“Alright,” you say through clenched teeth, and withdraw the envelope from your back pocket. You drop Scar’s set of keys into his waiting palm, and he snatches them up without breaking eye contact.

After a pause, he says, “Thank you.” And with that, he turns on his heel and marches towards the house.

If your blood could boil any hotter, it would be melting the skin off of your bones. How _dare_ he?

You shoot a _can-you-believe-that-guy_ glance at Slim, and he meets it with a wry smile and a rasping laugh.

“Yeah, he can have that effect on people,” he says. “But he’s still family, y’know?”

A scowl pulls at your lips. “I guess,” you grumble, and fish out Slim’s set of keys from the envelope.

“Only child, huh?” he asks, lifting Scar’s duffel bags hanging from his forearm with ease to take the keys from you.

You force a smile. “Is it obvious?”

Slim grins. “A little.”

You hunch your shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

Slim snorts. “What for? Ain’t your fault.” He places the ring holding the keys between his fangs so he can adjust his grip on the duffel bags, and slowly lugs towards the house. “So…” he mumbles around the keys, “all alone in the world, are you? You got no other family?”

You follow him, retrieving your mug from across the porch – damn…it’s chipped. “My mother moved to Ebott to study, so her parents are oceans away, and my father was an only child, too. My grandfather had two brothers, but one died before he reached twenty. Pneumonia, we think.”

Slim has to duck to enter the house. “That’s rough.”   

“And the other brother…my great-uncle…” A frown tugs at your brow. “He cut off all contact with Grandpa after he got the house, and we never heard from any of his kids. He was pissed.”

So pissed that he didn’t even come to your parents’ funeral – or your grandparents’, for that matter.

Slim cackles. “What made your old man so special?”

“He actually _worked_ ,” you say sourly. “He tried his best to keep the business running, despite what all the investors said. His brother only pulled his weight when it suited him. Thought he was going to get all of daddy’s money when he died.”

Slim pauses at the foot of the stairs and turns to smirk at you. “Damn, you’ve got bite, honey. You sure ain’t no pushover.”

You gnash your teeth together. “ _Fang_ you very much.”

It earns you a gruff laugh, and Slim slowly snakes his odd tongue from behind his teeth and nudges the keys dangling from one fang. “ _Key_ you later.”

So…he’s a joker, too? It’s hard to imagine that he’s so close with Scar, who seems to just naturally repel fun with some aura surrounding him that screams _SMILE AT ME AND YOU DIE_.

You part with Slim in the entrance hall and carry Scar’s shopping bags into the kitchen. You place your book and chipped mug to one side, and make a start on unpacking the food, grumbling all the while.

The packaging looks rather pricy; all of the products seem to be _MTT Brand_ , but are part of some kind of luxury line that is exactly the same as standard _MTT Brand_ products, but _slightly_ _better_.  

Most of the cupboards in the kitchen are still empty, so you stack all dry food in its own space, and ensure that the chilled and frozen foods are on their own shelves in the fridge/freezer, but you do so quite aggressively, shoving the packets of food into their places with some force, denting the packaging and squashing the food inside.

You pause halfway through filling the fridge – you’re being petty. You really shouldn’t be…you’re an adult, for goodness sake. You know better than to let Scar’s unsavoury temperament bring your mood down and squash his food out of spite…

What would your grandmother say?

…

She’d say: _bruise his apples, baby._

You smile. “Thanks, Grandma.”

-

For the rest of the afternoon, you hole yourself up in the east loft conversion, sifting through several boxes filled to the brim with your grandmother’s nick-nacks.

Already the room is looking a little less cramped thanks to Papyrus and Blue taking two of the tables you’d stored up here. However, without a place to neatly stack the boxes, the room looks a bit…cluttered.

Many of the boxes contain a random assortment of things; trinket boxes, cheap rings and bracelets, keychains that you gifted her every Christmas – because she’d once assured a much younger you that she really liked keychains, that’s all you got her since. Even as an adult, you gifted them to her as a joke. It seemed a little silly to keep all of them out of sentimentality, but it was surprisingly hard to part with them.

You laugh when you pull out a keychain of a skeleton wearing a Santa hat and holding a banner that says; _Shin-gle Bells_. Oh, you’re definitely not getting rid of this one – Sans and Stretch would love it. You shove it into your pocket, next to the envelope of keys.

Maybe you could give your new tenants some of the keychains? Or perhaps you can buy them some of their own, just for a bit of fun?

… You can’t imagine Scar with a keychain dangling from his keys.

One large box in particular is practically overflowing with your grandmother’s old, ceramic animal ornaments. Although, technically, they’re yours.   

Since your grandfather never allowed pets, your grandmother bought you nearly every single animal related ornament you happened to clap eyes on while shopping. Some of them are badly cracked and shoddily glued back together by your infant hands, since you always ended up breaking them in the first place…but some of the tiny, ceramic animals managed to escape grievous bodily harm.

You separate the damaged animals from the not-so-damaged. You’d perhaps get a couple of pennies for each, so pawning them off seems like a waste of time. Charity shop, it is.

And all throughout the afternoon, you kept receiving texts from the skeleton brothers.

Though they were in the house, Blue and Papyrus texted you quite frequently:

 **Papyrus – 15:02 –** _Human! I have received confirmation that the paint I’d ordered is currently in transit! It should arrive within the next three to five business days._

 **Papyrus – 15:05 –** _When it gets here, you should definitely paint with me!_

 **You – 15:09 –** _Of course I will :) I said I would_

 **Blue – 15:10 –** _Human! I have been informed that the paint I ordered just yesterday is out for delivery!_

 **Papyrus – 15:11 –** _Excellent! You can bring your strange duct tape!_

 **Blue – 15:11 –** _You should paint with me! I can present to you my prowess with the paintbrush!_

 **Blue – 15:12 –** _And you can teach me how to use duct tape, I guess!_

 **You – 15:14 –** _I’d love to help you :) I promised, didn’t I?_

 **Blue – 15:17 –** _Wonderful! I very much look forward to it! :D_

Of course they ordered the paint at the same time, and of course they would _text you_ about it at the same time. You honestly can’t keep up with them.

Sans’s texts consisted of nothing but joke after joke:

 **Sans – 15:34 –** _what did the hot dog say to her boyfriend before they had sex_

 **You – 15:46 –** _What?_

 **Sans – 15:50 –** _did you put on a condom-ment_

 **Sans – 16:01 –** _so this girl said she recognised me from the vegetarian club_

 **Sans – 16:03 –** _ive never met herbivore_

 **Sans – 16:15 –** _can i be frank with you?_

 **You – 16:17 –** _Slow day at work, by any chance?_

 **Sans – 16:17 –** _i dont fear putting condiments on my hot dogs_

 **Sans – 16:19 –** _i relish it_

At one point, Stretch texted you only to inform you of where he was.

 **Stretch – 15:59 –** _had to make a quick stop somewhere_

 **Stretch – 16:17 –** _tell blue if he asks_

 **Stretch – 16:18 –** _im picking up his new laptop_

 **You – 16:19 –** _Will do_

 **Stretch – 16:32 –** _you know I used to sell computer parts?_

 **You – 16:35 –** _No, that sounds cool_

 **Stretch – 16:39 –** _yeah but then I just lost my drive_

 **You – 16:41 –** _I’m guessing you didn’t click with you co-workers?_

 **Stretch – 16:53 –** _youre good ;P_

Once you’re finally done separating the ceramic animals – delayed thanks to all the texting – you give Red a quick text, conscious that the day is getting on a bit, and he and Boss still haven’t turned up.

 **You – 17:01 –** _Is everything ok? If you want to collect the keys tomorrow instead, you can :)_

You get no response even after another hour of re-organising the items into a box for the dump, and a box to be taken into the city.

Feeling a little dejected, you lumber down the stairs with the box labelled _DUMP_. You consider checking up on Blue and Papyrus, but their doors are closed when you pass them, so you decide not to bother them.   

You’re halfway across the second floor landing when a bitterly cold breeze blows gently into your face, and goosebumps break out on the skin of your arms.

You slow to a halt and turn around to find Scar hovering in the doorway of his room, hands behind his back, spine ram-rod straight, and glaring at you.

Your heart drops into your stomach. He knows you squashed all of his food…oh, God… The universe has judged you for your pettiness, and is now punishing you yet again.

Regardless, this is still your house, and you refuse to be disrespected in it!

You steel yourself and open your mouth to speak, but Scar beats you to it.

“If you’re not busy,” he says coolly, “I require your assistance.” And he retreats into his room without another word.

You’re not sure why you’re trembling when you place the box in the far corner of the landing and follow him.

Like his brothers, Scar has rearranged the furniture in his room and long since emptied his duffel bags, though it’s clear that, aside from a small Newton’s Cradle carefully positioned on the desk, all that he seems to have brought with him are books and clothes. 

All of his clothes are hanging neatly in the closet, and his books are arranged on the bookshelf in alphabetical order, and by colour.

He shares some similarities with his more cheerful brothers, at least.

“Is everything alright?” you ask hesitantly.

“Hmm…yes.” Scar slowly walks about the room and studies the furniture, tapping his chin with a red-gloved finger. “The size of the room is quite acceptable, however, the furniture…”

He pauses next to the bedside table and drums his fingers atop the surface. “None of it matches. They leave far too much space. And they’re all rather…” He runs a finger along the edge of the table and lifts his hand to inspect it. “…old.” He rubs his forefinger and thumb together and grimaces.     

Something vicious within the deepest reaches of your soul rears its ugly head, but you push it back down, placating it. “Okay…so?” You patter over to the desk. “Look, we can just move some things around if there’s too much space. Or I can see if there’s any spare furniture in the attic that you might like. I just…left the bare minimum because I thought you guys would want to bring some of your own stuff.”

Scar’s frown deepens. “No. That won’t be necessary. The décor does not match my tastes. I shall purchase furniture of my own to better suit this room. It’s perfect space is wasted with such drab furnishings.”

Oh, that hurt. _Drab?_ You saved some of the nicest furniture to keep in the rooms, consisting of an assortment of designer brands from the fifties all the way through to the nineties. Your grandfather had pretty good taste thanks to his father, picking through the disaster-pieces that each decade churned out to decorate the house with tasteful décor that aged quite well.

And besides, all of this stuff is contemporary, now! The furniture you plan to auction off will sell nicely amongst all the hipsters and _nostalgia-seekers_. 

“I would like you to assist me with removing it,” Scar says.

You suck a breath through your teeth and take hold of the edges of the desk.

“Hey, come on!” you say in the most up-beat voice you can manage. “You ever read a feng shui book? Let’s move some of this stuff around and see what we can do!”

An impatient noise rumbles from Scar’s throat. “For the Angel’s sake, I’ve already done the best I can with this room. There’s no point in you attempting to fix it if _I_ could not.”

You’re certain that the pulsing vein in your forehead is about to pop. “Well…see? The desk perfectly fits that corner, there. And we can move the bed over to the wall rather than have it centred –”

“No, no!” Scar snaps. “Do you not see how uncoordinated that would be? The bed is perfectly centred against the wall and is in line with the window opposite. However, the frame does not align, so I shall have to purchase a replacement that measures out correctly. The closet must stand parallel to the door, although I would have preferred a walk-in, but I shall make do without, I suppose.”   

Blue and Papyrus may be a little brutal with their honesty, but this constant griping is becoming too much, and the ugly part of your soul breaks free with a frustrated roar. You drop the desk with a loud huff, and unleash your best glare on him.

“Alright,” you snap. “I’ve had enough.” You gesture around the room. “This stuff belonged to my grandfather, and his father before him, and they worked hard to be able to afford it all!”

Scar’s face goes blank. The crimson light in his sockets fades, leaving nothing but those deep, dark holes that seem to bore into your eyes despite being empty. It’s as though there’s something in the void beyond them that’s staring right back at you. Something dangerous…

But you can’t stop. Your soul is swelling, burning – you refuse to just stand by and let him insult you. How dare this guy belittle you. How dare he have the _nerve_ –!

“Now, it may not look very fancy to you,” you blabber on, adrenaline fuelling your motor mouth, “and it may not align with the walls, or whatever, but back then this stuff was all the rage, and _very_ expensive. So I would appreciate it if you would…appreciate that…”

You’re sweating; your neck and back are damp, and you shirt it sticking to your slickened skin. There’s a black hole where your stomach used to be, leaving you feeling empty, and your hands, clenched into tight fists, are quivering uncontrollably.

Maybe…back-talking a monster with a glare so frightening that even the world’s bravest soul would wet themselves upon seeing it wasn’t the best thing to do…

Scar is stock-still. He’s so still that you think that there may be something wrong with him…or that he’s mulling over whether or not to just go for your jugular with those deadly fangs of his. But after a few, long, _agonising_ moments, he releases a long breath, and that deep scarlet glow return to his sockets.

You sag, trying to control the shaky breath you release.

“You don’t have to keep any of the furniture,” you say, voice softer, but trembling slightly. “I can sell it all, or see if your brothers want any of it. But…please try to understand that it means a lot to me, okay? Just because you have high standards doesn’t mean you have to act like a dick.”

You cringe. Oh, no…did you just call one of you new tenants a _dick?_

Scar hums thoughtfully, crossing his arms behind his back and focusing on some spot on the floor, brow furrowed, and his cheeks tinged a faint pink. After a moment of silence, he does a slow sweep of the room, his gaze lingering every now and then on certain pieces of furniture, contemplating them, but he will not meet your stare – he adamantly avoids it every time his glowing eyes pass over the desk in front of you.

“Ah, yes…” he finally says in a voice so quiet you have to lean forwards to better hear him. “I suppose I was…being a little harsh…”

He cups his chin with his hand, thinking hard…but you realise that he’s actually attempting to hide the obvious glow on his cheeks. Minuscule beads of sweat roll down the side of his skull, and instantly, your burning soul dims, leaving you feeling cold…

How could such a domineering, terrifying figure have been reduced to a nervous mess so quickly?

“It’s…” But you pause. _It’s okay?_ No, your grandfather always told you to never say that when someone upset you, otherwise it gave them the excuse to do it again. And Scar hasn’t exactly apologised yet. How hard is to just say _sorry?_

Scar takes a deep breath…and just like, the control is back. He holds himself perfectly straight, folding his hands behind his back, heels held tightly together as though standing to attention in a military line-up. Only his traitorous blush gives him away… 

He regards you with a look of complete sincerity, and the transparency of his gaze throws you a little.

“Such behaviour,” he says so slowly, “…is unbecoming of a member of the Royal Guard. I…apologise…” Wow, that really did look like it took every ounce of his strength to say.

You’re not surprised that he’s a member of the royal family’s elite guard – he certainly has the discipline – but you gather that he’s clearly in a position that demands respect and is never challenged; a position of the highest authority, a position where he never has to apologise…

And you just reminded him that he has no authority, here.

“Uh…” You clear your throat. “I accept, but…if you didn’t like the furniture, you could have said it a little less…callously.”

Scar nods. “Yes, I understand that, now.” He’s still blushing furiously, and he seems very aware of it, struggling to maintain eye contact with you rather than give in to the urge to hide his face.

“I can get you a catalogue, or something?” you offer. “And I can see if your brothers want any of your stuff.”

“A wise decision, yes,” Scar says quickly. “And I would…appreciate that…”

“No problem,” you say softly. “Um…I’m–” You’re not sorry that you yelled at him, but… “…I’m sorry that I tried to force the furniture on you when you obviously didn’t like it.”

Scar relaxes, his tense shoulders sagging…but his blush seems to glow brighter still. “Yes, of course,” he mutters. “No harm done.”

Oh, jeez, that blush a little disarming. Even with the deep gash across his left socket, the rosy glow to his cheeks easily diminishes his overall fearsome visage…

“Look, I… I’m making dinner for you guys tonight,” you say. “To welcome you all. Do you want me to cook anything in particular?” Perhaps establishing a truce through food can somehow clear the awkward air that has formed between the two of you.

Scar blinks. “There’s…really no need,” he assures you. “But thank you. I have no preferences…”

Aw…now you feel bad for squashing all of his food…

You nod. “Okay, then…” Conscious of your hair sticking to your sweat-slicked forehead and fighting the urge to wipe the back of your arm across it, you walk towards the door. “I’ll be in and out…if you need anything.”

Scar follows you and lingers in the frame, watching you curiously. “Yes, yes…” He clears his throat. “Thank you.”   

You focus on keeping you eyes from darting back to him as you retrieve your _DUMP_ box from its corner and descend the stairs, aware of Scar’s crimson gaze following you all the while.

You’ve seen this kind of weakness before; there’s one boy you teach that was once the big, bad of the playground, the Godfather, the OG… Being the oldest of all they boys, with a very rich father, all of the other boys were scared of him, but at the same time in awe of him, always rushing to please him, to become his friend, because if you become his enemy, then you may as well move schools.

However, when he fired a rubber band at you when you back was turned, showing off to his loyal followers, you turned around and fired the rubber band back at him. It didn’t hit him – good Lord, you would never hit a child – but he certainly wasn’t expecting it, and he _definitely_ wasn’t expecting you to openly berate him in front of the entire classroom.

In an instant, his brave front crumbled. The steel foundations he’d built on respect and fear came crashing down, revealing that meek, frightened little boy hiding beneath it all.

You’d gotten a very stern call from his father later that day, but it didn’t matter, because since the rubber band incident, his son abruptly transformed into the sweetest, kindest boy you’d honestly ever seen, offering to play with some of the children if they looked lonely, and he soon became the most popular kid on the playground for a completely different reason.

Not that your expecting Scar to suddenly become some kind of teddy bear overnight…but at least he has the good grace to admit that he was acting out of line.

You’re definitely not one for confrontation – if something can be resolved without raising voices, then you’d rather go down that route. You hate all the shouting; there’s no need for it…

The adrenaline suddenly overwhelms you. You knees buckle the moment you step out onto the back porch, and you crumble, your heart pumping so quickly and so painfully you’ve gone lightheaded. You brace yourself on the porch railing, taking deep, even breaths.

Oh, God…and it’s Scar’s window that has the awful gouge from the electric drill in it! Well, you can’t fix it now, knowing that he’s going to be on the other side of the glass, watching you sand down the wood…perhaps _accidentally_ opening the window just when you get close enough to the pane…

Jeez, that would be an embarrassing headline. _Young woman falls to death after pissing off a skeleton in a haunted as fuck house…_

The universe has well and truly judged you, today. At least your grandfather would have been proud.

-

 **You – 18:39 –** _Hey, just wanted to check in. Are you guys going to arrive tomorrow? Or a little later in the week? I hope everything’s ok._

 **You – 18:52 –** _Please let me know._

 **You – 19:05 –** _I’m getting a bit worried._

“Human!” Blue’s voice tears you away from your phone. He’s brandishing a wooden spoon in one hand and holding a metal pot in the other. “Pay attention! Water sausage is particularly fickle to cook! You must be very precise, and I must show you what to look out for!”

“Sure, Blue,” you say, pocketing your phone. “Sorry.”

Red and Boss still haven’t turned up, nor given any reason for their absence. They haven’t even sent a quick apology text, either.

You can’t help but worry that perhaps they are now on bad terms with Scar and Slim – whatever occurred during that debate over the oh-so-desirable-perfectly-positioned room must have really driven a wedge between them. You hope that none of them got badly hurt.

You considered calling, but you’d already sent enough texts. And you really had to get dinner going.

Once you’d informed Blue and Papyrus that you were starting get a little peckish, they’d scrambled after you and grabbed you by the arms, hauling you down to the kitchen with excitement.

Tacos and spaghetti with meatballs are on the menu; each made with ground water sausage. Duck has been given a mini living space of his own in the kitchen, perched in the corner beside the fridge, overseeing the proceedings that are about to unfold with a look of premature shock on his face.

Papyrus is already filling a spare pan with water for the spaghetti, wearing a very appropriate apron with _Bone App_ _étit_ written across the chest, though the _e_ has been not-so-expertly added with permanent marker. You had chosen to give in to the brothers’ wishes when they insisted that they cook their _signature dishes_ for you, but you did manage to come to a compromise by promising to make dessert.

“Splendid!” Blue cheers, donning an adorable apron with _Are You Ready to Pat_ _ê?_ written in permanent marker across his chest. “Now, first, we must ensure that the pan is filled with oil before adding the ground meat –“

“Actually,” you interrupt him gently, “I was thinking we could make a start on dessert first.” You gesture to the printed recipe for crab-apple pie, and the readily prepared work surface; the eggs, butter, sugar, and flour are lined up beside the bulging bag of crab-apples, and the baking sheet to put the apple slices on is evenly spread out. Beside the deep mixing bowl is a thick, wooden chopping board, and placed in a neat line atop it is large wooden spoon, a whisk, and two knives; one for the apples, another for the finished pastry.  

Blue raises a brow. “But dessert comes _after_ dinner?” he says as though you’re an imbecile.

“The meat won’t take long to cook,” you say, thinking back to recipes you’d downloaded earlier that afternoon from a website called _under-cooked.com_ – which you thought was rather clever.

Blue’s grin widens. “Mweh-heh, yes, of course! Yes, that’s very wise…water sausage takes a mere ten minutes. Five if you really turn up the heat!”

You shouldn’t really have been as surprised as you were to find that monster dishes were pretty much exactly the same as human dishes, only with monster specific ingredients. However, each recipe you read came with two sets of instructions; one set for those who wielded fire magic, and a set for those who couldn’t.

You’d love to taste a dish cooked using fire magic, one day…apparently it’s delicious.     

“So,” you continue, “I was thinking of trying crab-apple pie.” You’re too embarrassed to admit that your reason for choosing to make a pie was down to that fact that you bought far too many crab-apples because of how cute they looked. “The recipe looked really simple. Once we get the pie in the oven, while it’s baking we can get on with the main course.”

“An excellent idea!” Papyrus cries, and tosses the pan to one side, spilling water all over the floor.

“Pappy, careful!” you choke with a laugh. “Someone could slip on that.”

“Nyeh-heh, sorry!”

“Just…could you make a start by chopping up the apples?” you ask the brothers, emptying the bag of crab-apples onto the counter-top. “I’ll take care of the spill.” You carefully avoid the giant puddle of water when you make your way to a large cupboard in the corner of the kitchen.

Blue seizes one of the knives and swipes the rest of the utensils off of the chopping board. “Behold!” He brandishes the blade. “I, the magnificent Sans, chief crab-apple chopper, shall show you how it’s done!”

You pause mid-way through pulling out a mop from the cupboard – the image of someone as sweet and adorable as Blue wielding a knife is rather funny…and a little disturbing.

Blue places a crab-apple on the chopping board. “Visualise the apples as your greatest foe!” he instructs Papyrus, who has leaned over to watch carefully. “Ensure that the blade slices straight through the core in one swift blow! Mweh _-heh!”_

Blue throws the knife down and cleaves the crab-apple in two, sending both halves flying in opposite directions. One half is saved from ending up on the floor by Papyrus’s incredible reflexes when he lunges to catch it. The other half does a barrel roll in the air before it hits the floor with a loud _splat!_  

There’s a beat of silence; all eyes are on the splattered crab-apple.

“Uh…whoopsie!” Blue releases the handle of the knife and hurries to fetch the escaped fruit, sweat glistening around his temples. He dusts off the disfigured apple and grins nervously. “Good catch, Pappy!”

Papyrus holds his half of the crab-apple aloft triumphantly. “Nyeh-heh! No crab-apple can escape the clutches of the great Papyrus!”

A laugh bubbles in your chest in spite of the quickly developing disaster that is cooking with Blue and Papyrus. You quickly glance at the countertop to ensure that nothing else was sent flying by Blue’s overenthusiastic hack with the knife…

… The blade is wedged into the chopping board.

You take a deep breath through your nose and force a smile. “Um, on second thought…Papyrus? Could you mop up that water, please? I’m supposed to be the one doing the dessert…it’s not fair to make you guys do it for me when you’re going to be cooking –”

 _The main course_ … Maybe this was a bad idea?

“Certainly!” Papyrus says, taking the mop from you, eagerly, and tossing the crab-apple half over his shoulder, which Blue catches with a victorious _mweh-heh!_

“So, human!” the stout, sparkling-eyed skeleton says. “What do you think so far? Do you understand my technique?”

“Um…” You rub the back of your neck – there are practically stars in his eyes as he awaits your answer with ardent anticipation. You couldn’t possibly deny that face… “It was…different!” you settle for. “I’ve never chopped an apple that way before.”

“Oh-hoh!” Blue laughs. “Human, you are in for a real treat! You are about to be educated by the culinary master that is I, the magnificent Sans!”

“And I!” Papyrus interjects, holding the mop high, flinging fat drops of water from the soaking strands of the head into the air. “Master chief, Papyrus!”

“O-oh…” you say faintly. “Well…thank you very much, but…I was wondering if I could maybe show you how I cook? I mean…it’s only fair that I pass on my tips and tricks, too, right?”

The brothers nod with understanding.

“Another excellent idea!” Papyrus says.

“Indeed!” Blue adds.

 _Thank God…_ You free the knife from the chopping board and pick up a crab-apple, placing it beside the thin crack in the wooden surface.

“Okay, so…” You swallow, trepidation making your stomach churn. “We don’t want to make the slices too thin, or too big, either…”

You carefully slice up the apple, aware of Blue and Papyrus watching very closely… _Too_ closely. Papyrus is looming over you in a way that feels a little threatening, and Blue’s nasal cavity is mere centimetres from the chopping board.

“Hmm…I don’t think you’re doing it right, human,” Papyrus observes.

“Yeah…” Blue says thoughtfully. “Perhaps if you put a little more force into your swing?”

“You only need to cut the apples gently, you know?” you say with a small laugh. “They’re not that tough.”

“Is this a new battle technique?” Blue mutters to Papyrus.

Papyrus only shrugs.

You don’t know what _battle technique_ has to do with slicing up an apple, but you continue cutting at a steady pace, fighting back giggles and disguising the escaped ones with small coughs at the look of deep concentration on Blue’s face as he watches you.

“Do you want to try?” you offer when you’ve coughed one time too many – the brothers may think that you’ve caught some kind of sickness.

“Yes, please,” Blue answers immediately, and hurriedly takes the knife from you and picks up an apple of his own.

With intense focus, he mimics your movements, and slices a small, yet slightly uneven piece from the apple. He pauses to admire his handiwork, then cuts a second slice.

“Ah…this is quite easy!” He beams at you. “Human, tell me! What kind of tactic are you using, here?”

“Just…the usual?” You’re not sure how to reply – do monsters really cook so differently to humans, despite their recipes being almost exactly the same? “You know…slowly and carefully?”

Papyrus shocks you when he snaps his fingers loudly. “Ah-hah!” he exclaims, as though he’s just worked out the solution to a riddle. “Stealth!”   

Blue’s eyes flash with realisation. “Ah, yes! That makes perfect sense! To be stealthy is to be slow and careful…” He resumes slicing up his apple with renewed vigour, and the pieces that fall away from the core gradually become neater and neater.  

When finished, he places the knife down, props his fists on his hips, and looks at you expectantly. “What do you think, human? Pretty stealthy, yes?”

“I guess…?” you say slowly.

“Mweh-heh! My enemies will never see me coming!”

You never could have anticipated Blue and Papyrus’s obsession over table top battles would extend to cooking – but it’s quite harmless…for the most part, so you dismiss the thought and scoop up the apple slices.

“I don’t know about enemies,” you say with a reassuring smile, “but these look really good, Blue. Thank you.”

Blue chuckles gleefully to himself while you place the slices on the baking paper. “Would you like to keep going?” you ask. “I can make a start on the pastry?”

“Yes! I shall have become a savant of stealth before dinner!” With a loud and proud chortle, Blue reaches for another apple and lifts the knife, resuming his steady motions of carefully driving the knife’s edge through the fruit.

“I’d like to try!” Papyrus whines and props the mop against the counter, reaching out to snatch the knife from Blue.

You don’t want anyone to end up with clumsy knife wounds, so you stop Papyrus by placing a gentle hand on his outstretched arm. “Why don’t we…um…leave Blue to practise his stealth in peace? You can help me with the pastry.”    

Papyrus frowns. “Will that allow me to perfect my stealth, as well?”

You shrug. “Sure…”        

Papyrus’s smile brightens, and he follows you to where you had placed the mixing bowl a little too closely – it can be a little off-putting, sure, but the way he curves over your body is becoming rather endearing.

“So, if I start mixing the butter and sugar,” you say, passing him a small bowl, “do you want to crack the eggs?” That’s a good way to practise stealth, right?

Immediately, Papyrus lunges for the carton, and takes at least four eggs in one swipe. With a delighted cackle, he crushes them in his giant palm and throws their remains into the bowl, shell and all. “Picture the eggs as the heads of your enemies!” he shouts. “Imagine you are crushing them to dust!”

You hold back a groan – why _enemies?_ Why not something else?

“O-or…” you say tentatively, “you could image them as…your friends? I always did this…”

You fetch another small bowl and take one of the remaining eggs from the carton. Gently, you tap the egg on the rim until the crack on the shell is big enough, and you prise it open, allowing the yolk to slowly ooze out.

“See?” you say. “My friends are scared, so I’m gently putting them in the bowl so they’re _not_ so scared.” You crack a second egg to further emphasise your point.

Papyrus nods, fascinated. Even Blue has paused to watch, utterly enthralled.

“Wowie!” Blue exclaims. “I never knew you could cook this way! Alphys was always so forceful!”

“Me neither!” Papyrus pipes up. “Undyne always taught me to treat the ingredients as my greatest foes! It was part of my super-secret training, you see!”

 _Alphys…_ Blue mentioned that name on the day of the tour. The name sounds so familiar… Come to think of it, _Undyne_ sounds familiar, too.

“Super-secret training for what?” you ask. Was it for some kind of cooking show that was popular in the Underground?

“Well…it _is_ super-secret,” Papyrus says tentatively. “I don’t think you’re allowed to know…”

“I won’t tell anyone,” you promise.

“Oh, well!” Blue says cheerfully. “Then surely there’s no harm!” he urges Papyrus, who still looks a little doubtful.

“Guys, seriously, what was all this… _training_ for?” you ask again, perhaps a little desperately.

“For the Royal Guard, of course!” Blue and Papyrus say together.

…

… What the hell? The _Royal Guard?_

Though the ambassador had expressed the desire to disband it in the past, the Guard only exists as some kind of deterrent after the increasing hostility of Ebott’s humans populace became too dangerous to ignore; they became more like bodyguards to the royal family rather than a private army, or mercenaries for hire…

But still, even by monster standards, to train for Royal Guard, one must go through rigorous exercises, endure countless physical tests, and learn how to throw at least a punch…not learn how to slice an apple or crack an egg. When on this earth did _cooking_ qualify as _military training?_

Scar definitely fills the stereotype of scary elite soldier; Papyrus and Blue? They’re like puppies. Very large and loud but lovable…skeletal puppies…

…

Ahh…you understand, now.

Whoever Alphys and Undyne are – dang, their names sound _so_ familiar! – they were definitely trying to dissuade the sweet-as-sugar skeletons from taking up a life of bloody combat. In spite of your disbelief, you want to pat them on the back for managing to convince the brothers that cooking qualified as suitable training for the Royal Guard…

…but also knock their heads together for assuring them that their method of cooking was in any way practical.

You chuckle at the thought…and you can’t seem to stop. The laughter builds and builds until you’re practically shrieking. The laughter _hurts_ , and you double over, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes.

“Human?” you faintly hear Blue say.

“Is she broken?” Papyrus asks his brother.

Oh, dear, they might think that you’re making fun of them.

“No, no!” you assure them with a wheeze. “It just makes so much sense, now! Oh, jeez…that’s why… _enemies!_ I get it! I thought I was going crazy!”

“Why would you be going crazy?” Blue asks innocently.

“Oh, my God,” you groan. Once the laughter subsides enough for you to uncurl from your hunch, you place a hand on each of the brothers’ shoulders. “You guys…are so cute.”

There’s a beat of stillness, before colour bleaches the brothers’ cheeks, and they rapidly look back and forth between each other, jaws moving soundlessly. It only makes you want to laugh more.

“C-cute?” Blue almost looks offended. “No, human! The magnificent Sans is not…cute… Cool, certainly! But n-never _cute!_ ”

“I concur!” Papyrus agrees hastily. “One as great as myself cannot be cute! It…it ruins my image!”

“Oh, but wait!” Blue looks suspicious, now. “You are attempting to jape us in order to …t-to…”

“To distract us!” Papyrus accuses.

You laugh with disbelief. “Why would I do that?”

“It is a test!” Blue hollers, propping his fists on his hips. “Obviously!”

You tilt your head inquisitively. “A test for what? I meant what I said, you know?”

The brothers are very quiet for a long moment – Blue’s wide grin, though still in place, has lost all emotion; Papyrus’s jaw is slack.

Oh… Have you upset them?

Before you can apologise for your carelessness, Papyrus suddenly gasps. “Oh! Oh, no!” He grasps Blue by the arm and pulls him close to whisper-but-not-quite-whisper, “A _compliment?_ ”

Blue gasps. “A _genuine_ compliment!”

You shake your head, sighing. “You’re cute, but you’re weird, too.” You take another deep breath, your stomach muscles aching, and refer back to the pie recipe. “Okay…now it just says to beat the eggs in with –”

“Ah-hah!” Papyrus, clearly galvanised by your apparent flattery, snatches the bowl from you. “Fret not, human! I have quite exceptional skills in egg beating!”

You giggle. It’s strange that they claim to hate them, and yet Blue and Papyrus will drop a pun without a single thought – it’s as though they don’t realise that they’re doing it. You can only assume that, thanks to their brothers, they’ve been subconsciously conditioned to use the very jokes that they despise…

Papyrus holds the bowl at arm’s length and draws back his fist. “Watch closely!”

Your stomach flips. “Wait,” you say. “Papyrus, you need a –”

“Have at you, foul eggs!” Papyrus roars, and drives his fist through the bowl.

The bowl practically explodes, sending glass flying everywhere. You duck and cover your eyes, and when you open them, Papyrus is holding nothing but the cracked rim of the bowl, and the floor is covered with shards of glass and raw egg.

You collapse into screeching laughter again – you’re going to rupture something if they keep this up.

“You must have done something wrong,” Blue chastises Papyrus. “I don’t think the bowl is supposed to do that. And…you’ve broken the human again.”

Gasping, shaking, and laughing so hard your guffaws are near-silent, you blindly fumble about the counter, searching for the right utensil…

“Is she okay?” you just about hear Papyrus ask Blue.

You find what you’re looking for, and hold it up for the brothers to see.

“Beat them with a _spoon_ ,” you wheeze.

-

Considering your dreadful start, the rest of dinner prep goes by quite smoothly.

Papyrus and Blue were keen to adopt your method of _stealth-cooking_ , and were surprisingly very good listeners when you demonstrated how to gently roll the ground water sausage into balls, and slowly boil the rest of the meat at a moderate temperature for the taco fillings.

Pretty soon, you were able to leave them to it, and set about preparing the condiments and the extra fillings, but all the while keeping a close watch in case either brother decided that stealth was just not their style.

… Only to get a shock to find that they were actually rather competent cooks. They threw ingredients and utensils to each other without looking up from whatever task they were focused on. You couldn’t quite believe it at first, staring forwards every now and then to catch a flying tomato or an airborne knife that veered off course, but the brothers caught each object with ease, and without glancing up from their work stations once.

It was pretty impressive. They seemed like naturals until they reached the actual _cooking_ part.  

You only interjected when they asked for a second opinion on their stealth, and the kitchen was soon filled with the delicious smells of sizzling meat, baking pastry, and cooking magic.

It’s the scent of the baking pie that quickly attracts the rest of your tenants, saving you the trouble of fetching them yourself, or texting them.

Slim is the first to appear…and he quite literally just _appears_. The kitchen table is empty when you bend down to lay the plates in their proper places, but when you catch the scent of warm metal beneath the sickly sweet smell of simmering apples, you look up, and there he is.

He’s slouched in his seat, eyes closed, but he’s definitely awake, because he slowly, _loudly,_ smacks his strange tongue over his fangs and rumbles, “Somethin’ smells good.”

“Brother!” Blue cries. “Observe! We have been taught by the human the ways of stealth!”

Slim cracks an eye open and his grin twitches. “Oh, yeah? How’s’at goin’, little guy?” He glances around the room and whistles lowly. “Hey, looks like it’s goin’ pretty well.” He winks at you. “We still have a kitchen.”

“Unfortunately, some sacrifices were made,” you say solemnly. “You’re missing a bowl and need a new chopping board.”

Slim chuckles. “I think we’ll live.”

He leans back when Papyrus begins throwing copious amounts of steaming spaghetti onto each of the plates.

“Pappy, I said we didn’t need that much!” you admonish. “We have the tacos, too, remember?”

“Spaghetti and tacos,” a cold voice drawls from the door.

You glance up – Scar is hovering in the doorway that leads through to the living room, hands behind his back and scowling at the table. Your skin goes cold, and you want to ask if he’s feeling a little better after your little argument…but he seems more or less over it; trademark scowl back in place, that rather adorable blush long gone… He has resumed his role as the resident curmudgeon. 

“Joy,” he drawls. “I had almost forgotten what they had tasted like…”

“Nonsense!” Papyrus exclaims to you over Scar’s complaining. “My brothers will eat anything! It’s a bit disgusting, actually…”

“Are you being sarcastic?” you ask Scar with a smile that you hope he realises is an I’m-over-it-too smile.

“Sarcasm isn’t funny,” he says flatly. He remains in the doorway for a moment longer, sniffing the air. “Why can’t I smell burning?” He frowns and glares at you. “I suppose you are responsible.” He seems disappointed and strides into the room, taking the seat beside Slim…who is asleep again.

“We all cooked,” you say, gesturing to Papyrus and Blue.

Scar blinks. “How in the Angel’s name did you manage that?”

Before you can answer, Blue steals your attention, brandishing a whisk dripping with cream.

“Human! I believe a different tactic is in order! It appears that stealth is not an effective way to whip cream!”

“Oh, that’s okay,” you say, walking over to inspect his progress on the cream – it’s still of a very thin, almost watery consistency. “Cream needs a little more…strength.”

Blue’s cheeks glow. “I see! Thank you!” He then commences with whipping the cream so fast that his arm is a blur – it’s as though he’s just downed a shot of espresso.

Jeez, where does he store all of that energy? “Uh…when it’s all fluffy, you can stop.”

“You mean like this?” Blue lifts the whisk from the bowl, and a huge blob of thick, fluffy cream slowly drips from the wires and drops back into the bowl with a dull _tap!_

You’re struck dumb for a brief moment. That took mere seconds… “That’s…actually perfect,” you say, and Blue beams.  

“I see you’ve all _whipped_ up somethin’ tasty,” a new voice rasps with a soft laugh.

You turn and find Stretch and Sans seated at the table, and just faintly, you can smell the damp wood-like scent of their magic underneath all of the cooking.

“How long have you guys been home?” you ask.

They both shrug.

“Human, where shall I put this?” Blue interrupts you. “On the table?”

“We can keep it in the fridge until dessert, okay?” you say.

With a nod, Blue hands you the whisk and patters over to the refrigerator, cradling the bowl of whipped cream protectively to his chest.

Jeez, he’s so cute.

“Did you manage to collect the rest of your stuff?” you say to Sans and Stretch, wiping a line of cream from the whisk with your fingers and popping it into your mouth for a quick taste – the rush of euphoria from the magic in the cream dizzies you, but that aside, Blue did a pretty good job…it’s like eating a cloud.

“Yep,” Stretch says, tired eyes on your…mouth?

“Nah…work,” Sans says simply, side-eying Stretch with a strange grin. He shakes his head and pulls out a bottle of ketchup from his within jacket and takes a long swig from it. “I’ll get it later.”

“And the edge twins are still in the apartment,” Stretch adds with a snort.

“Yeah…” You feel a little dejected by their absence; they still haven’t texted you. “Are they okay?”  

“They’re perfectly fine,” Scar says irritably. “The great oaf is sulking.”

“I went back to get my things and was greeted with a brotherly smack to the head with my computer keyboard,” Stretch says, chuckling.

“Because you provoked him, no doubt,” Scar grumbles, poking at his plate of spaghetti with his fork dubiously.

“Well, they’d better hurry!” Blue huffs, placing the plate of taco shells on the table beside a large pot of minced water sausage. “This will all go cold if they don’t!”

“They’ll turn up when they get over themselves,” Stretch assures him.

“You guys didn’t fight over that room, did you?” you ask Scar.

“Of course we didn’t,” Scar says, affronted. “I’m far more civilised than that. The brute challenged me, but I refused. We settled it like adults.”

You’re still unsure. “How?”

“We had to come up with enough money for the room,” Slim mumbles sleepily, drowsy eyes trained on the whisk in your hand.

“And I triumphed.” Scar sniffs. “Naturally.”

“You had to make the money within the week?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Slim says, tongue poking out from between his fangs. “First person to cough up the cash got the golden room. Heh…so they’re not in the best mood right now.”

You stare at his tongue, and you reason that he must be hungry – you want to know more, taking notice that he said _we_ , not _they_ …but you decide to sweep the topic under the rug for now and get dinner served before your new tenants are reduced to nothing but…

…bones? You giggle to yourself and scoop another large dollop of cream from the whisk – you could get addicted to this stuff…

“Are you sure you want to brave the apartment if Red and Boss are still there?” you ask Sans, licking the whipped cream off of your finger.

“Stop staring!” Scar hisses, and you glance his way in time to witness him clout Slim across the jaw. “Stupid mongrel!” Oh, that blush is back…

Slim chuckles in response, his amber tongue running up and down his golden fang.

“Hmm, yeah,” Sans answers you with that strange grin still in place. “It’s a _whisk_ I’ll have to take.”

 “ _Sans!_ ”

Papyrus’s and Blue’s simultaneous indignant barks almost sends your heart bursting out of your chest, and you duck instinctively, throwing your arms up to shield your head. The whisk flies out of your hand, and you turn to catch it before it lands in any of the food –

But Papyrus has already caught it, standing directly behind you with the pot of bubbling water sausage balls, marinating in his _signature tomato sauce,_ balanced in the palm of his other hand.

He’s glaring at his brother. “Please! The human has already adopted _your_ …” he points the whisk at Stretch, “…ridiculous pun-based mannerisms! We are attempting to cleanse her of your terrible sense of humour!”

“Pun-believable,” Stretch says. “You really want to eliminate the best competition we’ve had in years?”

“Now, that’d be a real pun-ishment,” Sans bemoans.

“ _Shut up!_ ” Blue and Papyrus howl.

“Very pun-fortunate,” Slim rasps in agreement.

“That wasn’t even clever!” Blue complains.

“Please make it stop…” Scar mumbles, rubbing circles into his temples.

“Alright, alright!” you say once you’ve got your breath back from the scare. “As _punny_ as these jokes are –”

“ _Nooo!_ ” Papyrus and Blue wail.

“– get eating, already. I can plate something up for Boss and Red to have when they arrive.”

Papyrus begrudgingly places the pot of meatballs on the table and lobs the whisk towards the sink – again, without looking, and it lands in the bowl with a loud clatter.

The brothers dig in without hesitation while you separate two plates for the absent skeletons. Once the plates are filled, you leave them on the counter to cool a little before you put them in the fridge, and walk to one side to send another quick text to Red.

 **You – 20:13 –** _We’re sitting down to eat – I’ve left a plate for you and your brother in the fridge._

 **You – 20:17 –** _Please let me know if you’re okay._

You don’t get a response for another hour.

However, you’re not given an opportunity to be morose about it; watching the brothers eat is surprisingly entertaining.

Slim is the first to finish by abruptly tipping his entire plate of spaghetti into his mouth and swallowing it in one go. Sans piles meatballs onto his plate before doing the same, washing it down with another mouthful of ketchup. After Stretch allows Blue to fill his taco shell to the brim with the minced meat, he pushes the entire thing into the void behind his teeth, and it’s gone in seconds.

You’re not disgusted, really…just a little taken aback. They must eat quickly because of their lack of skin to keep the food from leaking out of their jaws.

… However, Blue, Papyrus, and Scar eat much slower, using their cutlery and actually chewing before they swallow. You watch Papyrus in particular, staring at the black hollows of his jaw for any signs of the food he shovels into his mouth…but each mouthful just vanishes the second his teeth snap shut.

By the time Blue, Papyrus, and Scar finish their first course, their brothers have already had three apiece.

Except for Scar, none of the brothers are clean eaters; Papyrus and Blue unintentionally get food everywhere by talking animatedly between themselves, using extravagant hand gestures that send the meat, sauce, and strands of spaghetti flying from their forks.

Sans and Stretch use their hands for everything, getting grease and sauce all over their clothes, sometimes by deliberately using their jackets as a napkin.

Slim gets food all over his teeth every time he downs another plateful, and then spends an unnecessary amount of time just licking it all off with his glowing tongue.

You decide to finish halfway through your first course, feeling a little loopy from all the magic. After each mouthful, you had to wait for the euphoria to pass so you could focus on taking another, but every new bite made you just as lightheaded, just as giddy…

But you are absolutely _starving_ – your stomach is begging you for some proper food.

“You doing okay, there?” Sans asks you, narrowly avoiding a wild swing of Papyrus’s arm, still deep in excited conversation with Blue.

“I’d better stop,” you say, perhaps a little too loudly. The magic food really has you wired…

“Yeah, you’re lookin’ as high as a kite,” Stretch says with a chuckle.   

Slim rasps a throaty laugh. “Heh… Her eyes are glassy as fuck.”

Burning heat spreads from your neck to your cheeks, but still floating on the magical high, you only laugh in response.

“You, know, Pappy and Blue are actually really good cooks,” Sans says. “And I’m not just saying that ‘cause they’re my brothers. It’s their…methods that are a little unusual.”

“What’s up with that?” you ask, sighing when the elation of your recent mouthful fades.

Stretch shrugs. “S’how they were taught.”

“It’s very impractical,” you argue.

“Eh, it works out for everyone in the end,” Sans says airily.

“Speak for yourself,” Scar snaps. “It won’t be long before this kitchen is reduced to ash, as well.”

 _As well?_ You glance at Papyrus and Blue, oblivious to the world around them, fully engrossed in their own conversation. Maybe you should ask them to only cook _stealthily_ in the house…the kitchen didn’t take you long to touch up, but everything within it is expensive to replace. A new stove alone would cost up to five hundred, minimum…

“Don’t listen to tiny,” Stretch assures you. “And hey, even if Pappy does somehow blacken the ceiling, he’ll fix it. He always does.”

Thank goodness… Your grandfather did always say that it was common courtesy to fix something you broke. He would have liked Papyrus for that, alone.

“Indeed!” Papyrus suddenly cries, apparently having heard every word. “Our kitchen in the apartment was always spotless!”

“Pappy always cleaned the high-up places,” Blue interjects, “and I always cleaned the smaller spaces!”

“Truly magnificent teamwork!” they both cheer and high-five.

One day, you’ll overcome your natural instinct to flinch whenever they scream.

“And the great Papyrus is terrifically talented with tools!” Papyrus declares.

“We made several modifications to our kitchen in the apartment!” Blue informs you.

You glance at their shirts; the marker-made _Cool Bean_ and _Superstar!_ designs are bleeding into the fabric a little… You really should stop worrying so much and have a little faith. Technically, it’s their house, now, too…

Your phone buzzes, receiving an incoming text, and you’re quick to unlock it when you glance at the screen and read the name of the sender; _Boss &Red._

All the text says is: _sorry_.

Your stomach drops into your gut. _Sorry?_ What for?

“Yes, and we all had to pay for damages, thanks to you!” Scar spits at Blue.

You can’t stop staring at that word. What could Red possibly be apologising for? The text came rather out of the blue after a week of nothing… Is that why he’s saying he’s sorry? Because he’s been blanking you?

Or have he and Boss changed their minds about the house?

“Why so confused, So-Confused?” Stretch’s low rasp drags your gaze from your phone screen to meet his eyes.

“Uhh…” You clear your throat and pocket your phone. “Um…pie!”

Stretch’s brow lifts. “Pie?”

“Dessert,” you say quickly. “I’ll get dessert.”

You rush to leave the table, taking your half-full plate to the sink, and you hastily withdraw your phone.

But Blue and Papyrus are quick to follow. They speedily gather their brothers’ plates, blatantly ignoring Scar’s protests, insisting that he’s not quite finished, and haul them over to you.

“I can wash them,” you say. “Can you start serving the pie?”

“Aren’t you going to join us, human?” Blue asks.

“I might in a while,” you assure him. “I’m feeling a bit giddy after all that food. I need a break.”

“If you insist,” Papyrus says with a shrug – jeez, he really looked like Stretch for a second – and he retrieves the pie from the oven while Blue fetches his expertly whipped cream from the fridge.

You turn your back to the table, still staring at that word. _Sorry…_

“What the heck…?” You type a quick reply.

 **You – 20:59 –** _Are you okay?? What’s going on?_

You want to call, but if it took this long for Red to just _text_ , you can’t imagine that he wants to speak to you.

You glance back to the table – Papyrus is already dishing out evenly cut pieces of the pie, and Blue is passing the bowl of cream around excitedly. Sans and Stretch have their eyes trained on you, curious.

Cheeks heating under their intense scrutiny, you turn back to your phone and hit the dial button next to Red’s number –  

A loud _bang_ jolts you so violently that your feet almost leave the floor. You whirl around in a panic, and the brothers are all frozen; all heads have turned in the direction of the living room, and Papyrus has halted mid serve. The slice of pie he has cut for himself slowly slides off the pie knife, and splatters onto his plate.

Sans relaxes first. “And here we go…”

“Hide your knives,” Stretch tells you with a wry smile.

“Why?” you gasp.

“And I see that my worthless brothers have already started without me!” a familiar, shrill voice shrieks.

Boss strides into the room, looking as intimidating as ever, and Red lumbers in after him, hands in his pockets and head down. 

“Brothers! You are just in time!” Papyrus says gleefully. “We are just about to have dessert!”

“Is _that_ what I can smell?” Boss scowls with disgust. “It’s horrible! Too _sweet!_ ”

Your heartbeat is loud in your ears, but you’re so relieved that they actually came –

_Wait…_

“D-did you just kick my front door open?” you demand, aghast.

“I do believe that it is _my_ front door, human!” Boss snarls at you. “Now…the sustenance that you have prepared for me…where is it?”

“On…the side…” You vaguely point over your shoulder.

Boss looms right into your space and you cringe back. His deep, black sockets are so unsettling…

“I shall overlook the fact that you proceeded to serve my witless brothers without me!” he growls. “But I will not do so again!”

“Okay,” you squeak.   

Boss sniffs. “You should thank me for my mercy, human! But I shall overlook it again!”

He marches to the table and takes his seat. “Get that foul smelling thing away from me!” he shrieks at Papyrus, eyeing the pie as though it’s filled with worms.

“Ah, I thought it was unusually quiet,” Scar grumbles.

“Silence, midget!” Boss snaps.

“Oh? But the human made it!” Papyrus jovially informs Boss. “Sansy and I helped her!” His admission is accompanied with a gleeful _mweh-heh_ from Blue.

“All the more reason to get it as far away from me as possible!” Boss fires his empty glare at you. “And where is my meal, human? How long do you intend to make me wait?”

He’s far more abrasive than he was when you had first met him – he must be in a _terrible_ mood.

You glance at Red, and his gaze quickly shifts from you to some spot to his left.

“Done sulking?” Stretch asks pleasantly.

Boss choked with indignation. “The great and terrible Papyrus _never_ sulks!”

“Oh…so when you hit me over the head with my keyboard, that was…what? The edgy version of a hug?”

“Clearly I didn’t hit you hard enough!”

“Didn’t peg you as the hugging _type_ , Edgy,” Sans comments, and Stretch chuckles.

The joke soars right over Boss’s head. “As if I would do something as pathetic as _hugging!_ ”

“It seems that I have lost my appetite,” Scar mutters with a scowl, pushing the plate of pie away.

“I guess he got to be in-key-ping with his _great and terrible_ persona,” Stretch agrees with Sans.

“Enough!” Blue begs. “The pie will get cold! Oh, Rus, careful!”

Slim has slumped face-first into his slice of pie, overcome with exhaustion. He slowly rises, and syrupy, crimson crab-apple jam dribbles down his face – hell, he looks like something out of a horror movie.

He licks a long trail of the jam from his upper row of fangs and grins at you. “Delicious.”

“Want some help?” a gruff voice says to your right.

You look down at Red, and he’s staring at you strangely.

“N-no, thanks,” you say. “The food’s already plated. I just need to heat it up…”

But when you walk towards the oven with the extra meals in hand, Red follows you closely – so close that you can smell the residual fumes of his burning magic. Faintly, you hear Slim chuckle. 

“Hey, uh…” he says once you’ve put the filled plates into the oven. “About all the silent treatment…” Like Scar, he seems to be really struggling to apologise. Sweat beads on his brow and he screws his eyes shut, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

But you wait patiently, heating up the oven in the meantime. Your grandfather always told you to make sure that people apologised to you, otherwise they would think that it’s okay to never do so to you in the future.

“Look, the boss was pissed,” Red finally hisses, “and he wouldn’t let me call ya! Ain’t my fuckin’ fault I couldn’t text ya…”

It seems that that’s the best apology you’re going to get, and it appears that Boss was the true culprit. So you nod, opening the oven and slipping the plates onto the top shelf.

“I just got worried,” you say in a hushed voice – Red obviously doesn’t want his brothers to overhear your conversation.

“Yeah, well, ya shouldn’t have been.” Red sniffs and averts his eyes, a frown pulling heavily at his brows. “’M fine.”

You choose to ignore the sting provoked by his tone and glance up at the table.

It’s utter chaos. Stretch has pie splattered all over his face, and it looks as though it hit with some force. Shattered remains of his plate are littered about his space at the table, and Boss is clearly the perpetrator, for he’s risen from his chair to crowd his orange-clad double, screaming in his non-existent ear. Stretch, meanwhile, simply wipes a line of the crab-apple jam from his jaw and lazily licks it from his finger.

Blue and Papyrus are trying desperately to calm the situation, offering cream and extra slices of pie, while Sans calmly swallows his slice, flashing you a thumbs up when he catches you watching.

Scar appears to have given up, and had his head in his hands. Slim has succeeded in licking up all of the jam from his face – jeez, how long is his tongue? – and slowly, sneakily reaches for the bowl of cream while Blue is distracted with trying to separate Boss and Stretch.

“Continue to push me, you brainless twig,” Boss threatens in a dangerous voice, “and I’ll crack every plate in this kitchen over your skull!”

“Well, _dishes_ a bit of a predicament,” Stretch muses, wiping another long trail of jam from underneath his left socket. “I must contem- _plate_ an appropriate response…”

Boss swipes the pie dish from Papyrus’s hands and holds it high over Stretch’s head. You start forwards to intervene, but thankfully, Papyrus snatches it back before Boss can throw it down, and his sinister clone whirls on him. “Do not interfere!”

“Now, now,” Papyrus chastises, one hand on his hip. “There’s no need to be so violent! The human made this wonderful dessert for us, and it would be rude to use it as an outlet for your frustration!”

“My _frustration_ is with you and your nauseating personality!” Boss roars. He then narrows his eyes at you. “And what would _the human_ know of our cuisine, anyway?”

“Hey!” Blue squawks when Slim snatches the bowl of cream from his unguarded hand, but before the short skeleton can lunge for it, Slim knocks back the entire contents, finishing it of with a quick sweep of his tongue around the glass dish.         

“Rus!” Blue moans. “That was supposed to be for everyone!” 

Slim belches, and you’re momentarily stunned by how he can do that without a gut…

“How could a human possibly have any knowledge of our tastes?” Boss continues to _loudly_ drawl. “Nothing, of course! She would probably sooner kill us all with her inexperience!”  

Jeez, you’ve heard children do that better – those in your class liked to not-whisper behind their hands about the kids they didn’t like, ensuring that the poor subject of their gossiping heard them perfectly.

It was really childish, and easy to ignore once older…but that last jab hurt, a little.

You busy yourself with fishing the heated plates of food from the oven so you can’t sulk about it too much. You roughly hand Red his, considering dumping Boss’s plate right at his feet…but you’d much rather make it to the end of dinner with all of your limbs still attached to your body.

“Watch it,” Red grumbles, taking his plate before you can poke him in the sternum with it.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

“Any more of that cream, little guy?” Slim innocently asks Blue, and Scar clips him upside the head.

Blue’s cheeks darken and puff out, and he seizes the empty bowl. “Honestly! But rest assured, I, Sans, wizard of whipping, shall see to it!”

“Carton’s in the fridge, Blue,” you tell him faintly.

“Oh, no!” Boss screeches, and stalks after Blue. “Your cooking is as sloppy as the grinning buffoon’s!” He point at Papyrus, who tuts disapprovingly.

“But the human said it was perfect!” Blue argues quite happily, retrieving the whisk from the sink and giving it a good rinse under the tap.

“ _The human_ , this, _the human_ , that!” Boss sneers. “Suddenly you’re all obsessed!”

“Whoa, hey!” you blurt, placing the plate of food on the counter. “ _This human_ has a name!”

Boss ignores you. “And have you so quickly forgotten that it was _they_ who put us under that mountain in the first place?”

The atmosphere in the room quickly changes from mildly chaotic to uncomfortable.

“No!” Blue says simply, and gestures to you with the whisk. “But that human didn’t, did she?”

“Yeah, and she’s given us a house,” Sans adds in what sounds like a casual tone, but there’s something threatening lurking beneath the pleasantness. “Maybe you should be a little more grateful.”

“Bah!” Boss spits. “If you hadn’t sold the apartment, I would have stayed there!”

You’re shaking. Your soul is burning again, pushing desperately against your attempts to hold it back.

“Hmm, didn’t you say that _anywhere is better than that hole you call an apartment_ , last week?” Slim mumbles, eyes closed.

“You were asleep!” Boss protests. “What do you know?”

“No…” Stretch taps his chin. “You definitely said that.”

“Human?” Blue has crept closer to you while Boss’s attention is elsewhere, clean whisk in one hand, and the carton of cream in the other. He whispers, “Where are the bowls?”

You silently fetch him a bowl, and you happen to catch Red’s expression – he’s staring at you as though you’ve just called Boss the worst name imaginable. But you ignore him and hand Blue the clean bowl, and the jolly skeleton enthusiastically begins whipping up the fresh batch of cream.

Immediately, Boss’s empty but frightening eyes lock on the whisk in Blue’s possession.

He marches towards him. “What are you doing? Give me that!” he demands and snatches the whisk.

But Blue doesn’t relent, and maintains a firm grip on the metal utensil. “But wait! I haven’t shown the human my perfected technique!”

“Careful!” you cry, eyes on the bowl – you don’t want to lose any more crockery today.

“Tch! What technique?” Boss sneers. “You call that pathetic twirling a technique? Were you trying to tickle the cream, or beat it?” He roughly pulls at the whisk. “Let go! Allow the great and terrible Papyrus to educate you!”

“But that’s what the human told me to do!” Blue insists, pulling the whisk back towards him.

“Please stop,” you plead, aware of arms and legs flailing, stopping within inches of hitting a nearby cupboard.

“What does the human know?” Boss snaps and tugs at the whisk again, pulling Blue with him.

The smaller skeleton staggers a couple of steps forwards, but valiantly retains his grip. “Give that back!” He drops the bowl, and by some blessing, it doesn’t break, but cream splatters everywhere.

“Knock it off, Pap,” Sans growls.

“Only if this little gremlin stops being so stubborn!” Boss screeches and pulls again.

You stagger back when Boss stumbles and nearly collides with you. Red shuffles away before you can trod on his toes, careful not to tip his plate.

“The human asked _me_ to do it!” Blue snaps, and it’s the first time you’ve heard him sound so _angry_.

“I don’t care what the _human_ wants!” Boss bellows, and with a final swift, violent tug, he succeeds in tearing the whisk from Blue’s hands –

– and his fist rams through the nearest wall.

Duck topples from his perch and hits the floor with a squeak, and a high pitched sound tears from your throat.

Boss’s fist punched right through the brick like it was paper, the wall swallowing his arm up to the elbow. With a non-committal grunt, he pulls his hand free, bringing with him the dented whisk, and a thick cloud of dust.

“Nyeh-heh-heh! And the great and terrible Papyrus is victorious!” he announces in his shrill voice.

But it’s muffled to you…it’s as though a plastic bag has been shoved over your head, held tightly at the neck. You can’t breathe, you can’t hear…you can’t speak…

You can only stare at the jagged hole, at the cracked paint around it, at the gentle cloud of brick dust floating to the floor. 

_Grandma… Grandpa…_

Something in you snaps, and you whirl on Boss.

“ _Just who do you think you_ _are?_ ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several notes on this one! Because I had loads of fun writing it!
> 
> I really like that Blue and Papyrus are super good at cooking in loads of other fics, so I did want to keep that in here, but I’ve always liked the idea that they cook with the same enthusiasm as they do with their ‘training’ – so like, their meals aren’t bad…but their actual cooking is :P
> 
> also, did you happen to notice that Papyrus unintentionally made two egg-related puns? ;) I really like playing around with the idea that Papyrus makes puns completely by mistake I don’t know why…it’s just so funny to me 
> 
> umm and the world building....i just kinda went a bit crazy! i really love people's take on the SOULs and traits and all that i wanted to throw in my own interpretations! i really hope they make sense lol
> 
> last thing, but yay people like the long chapters! im so happy! \^o^/~*


	4. There's a hole in your kitchen wall...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a hole in your kitchen wall...
> 
> Warnings for chapter: Mentions of Death, Mild Violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooooooooo!!
> 
> im so so so sorry this chapter took so heckin long!! there are so many bois to remember, and i want to give them an appropriate amount of spotlight!! 
> 
> gosh thank you so much for your patience with this guys! i really appreciate it - life gets in the way lol
> 
> and thank you for all the kudos and amazing comments!! <3
> 
> wanna talk? or yell at me? here's my [tumblr](https://cocofinny.tumblr.com/) and my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/CFinfinfin)
> 
> <3

-

-Chapter Three-

-There’s a hole in your kitchen wall-

-

**Warnings for chapter:** Mentions of Death, Mild Violence

-

 

There’s a hole in your kitchen wall.

There’s a _hole_ in your kitchen wall.

You’re certain that, if it were at all possible, smoke would be pouring from your nostrils.

The contorted whisk falls from Boss’s limp hand. His empty sockets blink once…twice… The room is far too quiet, save for your heavy breathing, the clatter of the whisk as it clumsily rolls across the floor, and the pitter-patter of loose rubble crumbling from the _hole in your kitchen wall_. 

Boss is so still he’s like a statue, turned to stone by your petrifying glare – there’s a buzzing in your ears, and you wouldn’t be surprised if your hair has turned to snakes, hissing and spitting in anger.

You are very aware of the many eyes in the room, darting between you and the frozen skeleton before you, but you keep your furious glare locked on him. You’re so angry you want to scream. You’re so angry you just want to cry...

_I’m so sorry, Grandpa…_

“Who do you think you _are?_ ” you ask again sharply. “You kick down my front door, and now you’re putting _holes_ in my kitchen wall?”

_I’m so sorry, Grandma…_

You raise a threatening finger, and Boss recoils. “Stop disrespecting my house!”

Boss’s jaw spasms, opening and closing in utter bewilderment. His dark eyes may be fixed on your quivering finger, or they may be focused on your livid face – it’s hard to tell with those wide, blank sockets. But he does look a little nervous; sweat gleams at his temples and his brow, which has lost its scowl…and without it marring his face, it’s easy to see his resemblance to Slim.

Then a strange, near-muted sound like a croak comes from his throat. “Y-your house?” Then he frowns, and it’s like the flipping of a switch. He pulls himself to his full, frightening height, spine curving so he can curl over you, his fangs barred, and that terrifying glower back in place. “ _Your_ house?”

The air surrounding you is vibrating, making your skin crawl, and you can smell burning wood. You refuse to be intimidated by him _or_ his magic. You square your shoulders and maintain eye contact.

“That’s right,” you say coolly. “ _My_ house. I still technically own it, therefore it is mine! And I won’t have _you_ coming in here and trashing it with your little temper tantrums!” _Oof_ , you usually use the _temper tantrum_ speech on the children…

“How dare you speak to me…” Boss grinds out, trembling with rage, “…in such a manner! I am the great and terrible Papyrus! I am feared all throughout the Underground! I demand respect! I _demand_ –!”

You scoff, cutting him off – already a stress headache is beginning to develop in your temples, and your chest feels tight…like that beast deep within your soul is trying to free itself from your ribcage. “This isn’t the Underground. This is my house, and here, _I_ demand the respect!”

Once the anger subsides a little, a part of your brain marvels at how Boss’s hand – nothing but bone – managed to smash through two layers of thick brick. The other part of your brain, however, is still _furious_.

“Y-you –!” Boss splutters. “You, a _human_ , think that you can speak to _me_ , a member of the Royal Guard, feared and abhorred throughout the Underground, like _that?_ Over a mere _hole?_ ” The air around him crackles, his magic burning fiercely, and your muscles seize at the sensation, at the pure magical power that he exudes.

Your head throbs, and you wince. You know that you should cower under that terrifying stare; your legs feel weak, almost heavy, and your shoulders tense, as though your body knows that you should be shrinking away, curling up on the floor in submission. But your heartbeat is so loud in your ears, pounding against your ribs, and your soul _burns._

You cannot back down – you _refuse_ to back down.   

Boss’s scarred socket twitches, and turns up his nose, folding his arms. “You are lucky that I am so merciful! You would be…would be nothing but dust…if I so wished it!” He points to the hole in the wall. “Do you see that? Do you see what strength I possess?”

You do not allow your eyes to following his pointing finger, glaring into his empty sockets. “Uh-huh, I see it,” you say sharply, “and _you’re_ the one who’s going to fix it.”

Boss gawks. “How…how dare –? The great and terrible Papyrus never debases himself to _manual labour!_ ”

“Yeah?” you say hotly. “Well, under this roof, everyone lends a hand, got it? Even the _great and terrible Papyrus_.”

“Y-you mock me?” Boss snaps, and the scent of burning wood intensifies. “ _Me?_ For something so trivial?”

A sharp stab of pain strikes you across the forehead, and you screw your eyes shut. For a brief moment, you believe that Boss has struck you across the face, but you reopen your eyes to find his fists clenches by his sides and staring at you as though you’ve just sprouted a third eye.

“Okay, enough,” you faintly hear Sans say.

“It’s not trivial to me!” you fire back. “Half of my family are dead, and the other half want nothing to do with me! This house is all I have left, okay? And I know it’s technically your house, now, too…but _please_ can you show it some respect!”

“Please!” Blue interrupts, attempting calm, but unable to mask the desperation in his tone. “The pie is getting cold!”

Boss scoffs, looking down his nasal cavity at you. “Bah! It was an accident!”

“I don’t care!” You’re close to screaming. “Why couldn’t you have just been more careful? For goodness sake, when are you going to take responsibility for yourself? Or are you just going to keep blaming other people?” You prop one hand on your hip and jerk your thumb towards his brother. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed that he’s paying for _your_ room!”

There’s a loud shatter, and you jerk around in fright – Red’s plate has fallen from his limp hands, and is now scattered across the floor in the mess that was his dinner. Sweat trickles down the side of his skull, and his sockets are pitch black.

“You think that –!” Boss halts mid-shout, wide, fanged mouth gaping. He blinks, then glances over your shoulder…at Red, then back at you.

You cringe. _Oops_ …

“S-Sans!” Boss roars. “Sans, look at what you did!”

He roughly shoves you to one side, sending you crashing into the ruined wall, and all of the air is knocked from your lungs when your back connects with the brick. The brothers around the table start up, hovering a few inches out of their seats.

Boss looms over his brother “She thinks that she can back-chat me because of you! What have you been telling the human behind my back?” he demands, and extends a hand. “Give me that phone! What have you been texting her?”

“Nothin’, boss,” Red insists, ducking back.

“He didn’t text me anything,” you argue through a gasp, and Boss whirls on you. “It was on the damn contract!”

“Y-you think that I…” Boss spits, “…the great and terrible Papyrus, rely on my…my… _worthless_ brother? _Bah!_ ”

“ _Bah_ , yourself!” you snap. “Stop calling him worthless! For putting up with you and your shitty behaviour alone, I’d say he’s worth ten of you!”

It’s as though Boss has been shot – he stiffens, and his jaw drops in disbelief.

“T-there are no freeloaders in this house!” you press on. “This house was built with hard work and care…so if you break something, then _you_ fix it!”

Boss is trembling, and his jaw works in spasms, opening and closing, unable to articulate his thoughts through his blinding fury.

“I…I refuse to be spoken to like this!” Boss eventually growls. “ _Sans!_ ”

You glance at Red, but he, too, is frighteningly still. The shattered plate at his feet has flung the food all across the floor, splattered his shoes and the hem of his sweats with red sauce and ground up chunks of water sausage. Fat droplets of sweat trickle down the sides of his skull, gleaming on his forehead – you can’t guess what’s going through his head. Is he angry? Afraid?

Though you have been given that look many times before; the parents never liked it when you scolded their misbehaving children.

Boss crowds him. “Sans! Didn’t you hear me?”

Red can’t seem to hear his brother at all, empty sockets fixed on you, his face slack.

“You…you worthless –!” Boss clutches his head and roars with dismay. “Sans, you _idiot!_ ”

He strikes his brother across the face so suddenly and with such force that it snaps Red’s head to one side.

“Hey!” you cry, staring forwards.

But Boss pays you no heed, and storms from the kitchen. Thanks to his impressively long legs he’s out of the room within seconds, and his wide, heavy strides boom all the way up the stairs. Moments later, a door upstairs slams shut with a _bang_ so loud and so powerful that it disturbs the loose rubble around the hole in the wall behind you, and leaves your ears ringing.

The kitchen is near silent – no one cracks a joke, no one clears their throat… All you can hear is the dull whine of magic, and the crumbling of brick.

You feel like you’re going to be sick. Your blood is rushing, boiling, and your body is pumped full of adrenaline, making you dizzy. With a trembling hand, you clutch your chest, right over where your heart is hammering so fitfully against your sternum – God, it _hurts_.

And another migraine has developed. Wonderful.   

You dare a glance at Red; a nasty, dark bruise is forming on his cheek. You look at the gaping hole in your kitchen wall; the paint is cracked, and in the dim light, you can see the rockwool insulation behind the brick. It’s badly dented, even ripped in places thanks to Boss…  

“Ahh,” Red then growls, drawing your attention back to him. He’s pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ya had to say somethin’, didn’y ya? Now look what ya did!”

You gawk at him. “What _I_ did? He put a hole in my kitchen wall!”

Red snarls, and the scent of burning paper permeates the air. “Yeah, but it was a fuckin’ accident! Shit, calm your fuckin’ tits! It’s just a wall!”

Any pity you felt for him is gone in an instant. It’s been years since you’ve been this angry – you’re shaking, and that fierce burning within your soul flares up, awakening the vile beast within once more. “ _What_ did you just –?”

“Now, now,” a calm voice rasps – Stretch has joined you, with remains of pie still clinging to his face. He loops an arm around your shoulders and pulls you against him, and does the same to his fuming brother. “Look, emotions are high right now, and we’re all feelin’ a little tense after…that. So…let’s take a breath, cool our heads, sit down, and have a nice slice of pie.”

Red growls and strikes Stretch in the side of the ribs, pulling away from his suffocating embrace. “Shut up. I ain’t hungry, no more.”

With a parting glare to you, filled with complete and utter loathing, he turns on his heel and storms out of the kitchen. On his way out, he drives his foot into the meal you had prepared for him, crushing the fragments of the plate into dust.

You watch him go until he’s out of sight, taking with him the scent of his magic, listening to him lumbering up the stairs after his brother, and your vision blurs.

_Don’t cry, you idiot_ … You shrug from beneath Stretch’s arm, and wiping your eyes with your sleeve, you kneel to carefully gather the remains of the plate.

“I…uh…” you dimly hear Blue say. “I shall…clean up this mess here!” You look up in time to see him gesture to the giant puddle of cream at his feet, before he darts towards the cupboard for the mop.

“And I shall…clean this!” Papyrus adds, pointing at the shattered plate on the table, covered with jam and limp pastry.

You want to tell them not to bother, to go back to eating, but Papyrus is already picking through the pie explosion across the table, and Blue is dragging the mop and bucket from the cupboard, having remembered it’s place from you earlier kitchen disaster. You don’t have the strength anymore, so you only nod weakly, carefully gathering the jagged pieces of crockery, cradling them in one hand.

Stretch squats down, elbows resting on his knees. “Well, that could have gone way worse…”

“Could it?” you say numbly – you can’t imagine that fight possibly having played out any worse than it had.

Stretch scratches at the side of his head, dislodging large, sticky clumps of jam from his skull. “Oh, yeah. Thought you were gonna get into a conflict.”

You pause and gaze at him, searching his face. “Is that what that was?” Automatically, you press two fingers to your forehead, trying to soothe the burning there. Is that what caused the headache? Your stomach drops into your gut – were you seriously about to enter a conflict with a monster? Oh, God…

“Nah, you would know, trust me,” Stretch assures you. “Dunno what that’s about, though…” He taps his forehead.

“If I was gonna guess…” Sans says, and you turn towards his voice. He’s leaning against the counter, hands in his pockets. “…I’d say that you’re just stubborn.”

A grimace pulls at your lips – you’ve heard that before, many times. Your grandfather always said that it was your best quality, but if left unchecked, it could be your worst…

A rasping chuckle draws your eyes up to Slim, lounging across the counter, and gazing at you sleepily. “Heh, I think it’s sexy.”

Stretch snorts. “You think everything is sexy.”

Slim only shrugs.

“No…I took it too personally.” You sniff. You’re so embarrassed – you want the floor to just swallow you up. How could you have upset two of your new tenants _minutes_ after they had moved in? “It’s just a…house… I should apologise.”

“Eh, if that’s what you want,” Stretch says, “but maybe not tonight.”

Scar clears his throat, standing to Stretch’s right with a small stack of empty plates in hands. “The runt with be with his brother all night. I suggest that you give them time to calm themselves down. There’s no good in approaching them when they are not ready. Otherwise…” He side-eyes Stretch. “…you get a keyboard to the head.”

“How long should I give them?” you ask.

“Red’ll come to you,” Sans promises. “Seriously…he will. And when he does, then you can talk to Edgy.”

Yes…that makes perfect sense. And though you desperately want to understand them – to understand their bizarre relationship – you know that forcing yourself into their lives will only push them further away. So you nod gently, wary of the insistent throbbing in your temples. Thankfully, you had thought to stock up on peppermint and green tea when you were shopping in the city.

“Okay,” Sans says softly, crouching down to your level, “So –”

“I know that it’s not your place to say,” you interrupt him softly, “and I don’t want to hear it from you. I want to hear it from them.” You point towards the door, after Red.

Sans shrugs. “Sure, alright.”

“Human!” Blue says, mop in hand and already having filled the bucket to the brim with water. “I am terrifically talented with interior issues! I can see to that…” He points to the hole. “…if you’d like?”

“Indeed!” Papyrus joins in, curling over you, careful not to drop the jam-soaked plate remains in his hands on your head. “The great Papyrus is also a master with such implements!”

“All we need is some water, some cement mix…perhaps a little bit of white paint…” Blue smiles reassuringly. “We shall have that hole covered in no time!”   

“Oh, and we shall need a trowel!” Papyrus reminds him.

Blue snaps his fingers. “Yes, well remembered!”

Their cheerful and generous offers manages to drive away some of your misery. “Thanks, guys, that’s really sweet of you…but I’m sticking to my guns with this one. _Boss_ fixes it, and if he doesn’t, then I’ll keep waiting until he does.”

Papyrus seems to want to argue, but he relents when he catches Blue nodding with understanding.

“If you say so, human,” the short skeleton says, and begins mopping up the cream.

“Hmm, good luck with that,” Stretch says with a yawn. “Edgy’s too proud, and he’ll probably just make short-stack do it.”

You groan. “I hope he doesn’t. That’s not fair on Red.”

Sans’s brow creases. “You know…Red doesn’t do everything his bro asks of him.”

“Really?” You’re dubious. “When?”

Sans rolls his eyes. “When he’s being unreasonable.” He eyes the food-pile at his feet. “But Red has very different limits to what is considered unreasonable compared to the average Joe.”

You don’t quite know what to say, so you return to carefully picking through the remains of spaghetti, water sausage, and taco shell for the shattered pieces of plate.

Red will come to you… You can only hope that Red will seek you out soon, so you can explain yourself. Boss may have wrecked your wall, but your reaction clearly upset Red more than it did his brother.

And your grandfather always said that if you upset someone, then you didn’t get to decide that you didn’t.

And it _was_ an accident…

You sag. “Okay, this wasn’t how I wanted this to go…”

Sans huffs a laugh, picking up a dented water sausage ball and rolling it between his forefinger and thumb. “If it was, I’d pin you for a masochist.” His teeth part, and you glimpse the dim blue glow of his tongue flickering within the void of his throat, before he flicks the ball of meat into his mouth.

Stretch pulls a long string of spaghetti from the mix-mash of spilt food and grins. “Or a sadist.” He tilts his head back and opens his jaw wide. Flashing you a wink, he drops the spaghetti string into that darkness behind his teeth, jaw shutting with a loud _snap_.

You shake your head, and wince at the pain throbbing in your temples. “No, no…” You look to Scar, and something sparks in his eyes, almost like a warning. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’ve been so…fussy about the house. It’s just…”

Papyrus strides up behind Scar and swipes the empty plates from his hands. “Oh, human!” His tone is harsh, as though he’s reprimanding you. “Don’t apologise for having high standards!” He places a hand to his chest, raising his head proudly. “If I lowered my standards for the sake of others, then I would be positively miserable! And why would I do that to myself?”

“Agreed!” Blue cries, drawing your attention. He’s beaming, one fist propped on his hip, and he points the cream-drenched end of the mop directly at you. “Never settle for anything less! And if anyone thinks you unreasonable, then they are not worthy of your time!”

Papyrus puffs out his chest, and Blue expertly twirls the mop in his hand, returning it to his side, but ends up spraying cream everywhere.

“Oh, please,” Scar grumbles, narrowing avoiding the sudden sprinkle of cream, dusting off his hands with a sneer.

Blue and Papyrus are beaming at you, and you can’t help but smile back, in spite of the burning fire in you skull. “You guys should write fortune cookies.” Your smile falls – there is, after all, a fine line between high standards and snobbery. “But I didn’t need to be so rude about it. I really overreacted…”

“Well,” Blue huffs, “I’d be pretty mad if someone punched a hole through _my_ wall! Even if it _was_ an accident!””

“Hmmm,” Slim mumbles in agreement. “N’ I get the feeling that this is more than just a house.” He cracks one, sleepy eye open, fixing it on you. “Ain’t it, honey?”

Cradling the jagged remains of the plate to your stomach, you stand, wobbling a little when pain flares in your temples. “I guess…”

“You guess?” Stretch rises from his crouch, throwing a squashed meatball into his mouth, a curious brow raised.

Blue gazes around the kitchen. “This house is very special.” He grins and nods with approval. “I can tell!”

“Well…” You swallow, and glance at Sans, but he only shrugs – he clearly didn’t think it important to inform his brothers of your personal life. “When I said that this house is all I have left, I meant that literally.”

“Why?” Papyrus asks. “Don’t you have any family?”

“Um…” You’re silent while you focus on carrying the broken plate to the trach can without catching yourself on any stray sharp edges, and skirting around the mess of food splattered across the floor. Once you dump the shattered china in the bag, you say, “No, not really.”

Of all the brothers present, it’s Blue who appears mortified by this.

“No family?” he asks. “At all?”

Before you can answer, Papyrus’s face lights up as though recalling something, and he snaps his fingers.

“Ah! But you must!” he insists. “You said that half of them want nothing to do with you!”

Blue shoots him a cautious look, sweat beading at his brow. “Pappy! That’s insensitive!”

“No!” you hurry to assure Papyrus when his expression moulds from ignorant delight to shame. “No, I did say that. And they don’t…I’ve never met them. I’ve only ever seen my great-uncle in photos, but I have no idea what my cousins look like…or any of their kids.”

“S’at got somethin’ to do with your gramps getting’ the house?” Sans asks, drawing a long string of spaghetti from the mess of food and slurping it up in one go.

Your throat clenches – that’s really disgusting. Your floor may be clean, but it’s still a floor, hardly healthy to eat off of. You fetch an empty bowl and a dishcloth, then crouch beside the pile of meat and spaghetti.

“Yeah,” you say as you shovel handfuls of the cold food into the bowl. “And I’d rather not try to get in touch. My grandfather didn’t get on with his brother, even before the house.”

“Have they ever tried to call you?” Stretch asks, leaning against the nearest counter, lazily picking drying jam from his face.

You think back to your grandfather’s funeral, watching his casket being lowered into the ground, your hand crushed within your grandmother’s tight fingers as she wept, clinging to you for dear life…the only family she had to be there with her during such a difficult time.

And you clung onto her, too, squeezing her palm white, knowing that one day, you’d have to stand here without her. 

You shake your head. “No. They’ve never tried.”

“Well, if they don’t bother to try, then why should you?” Blue says incredulously.

“I did think for a time that I was just making the situation worse by being…stubborn,” you admit. “I thought that maybe if I took the first step, then something good would come out of it. But…”

You’re forced into the memory without warning, staring at your grandmother’s name etched cleanly into the headstone beneath your grandfather’s. Only a year later, none of your calls returned, none of your messages answered…no-one there to hold your hand…

“I wouldn’t know where to begin looking, anyway,” you say with a shrug. Bowl filled, you wipe your hands on the dishcloth and gesture to Blue for the mop.

But he’s still mopping up the cream, slowly, half focused on you. When you reach out, he shakes his head and says, “I shall clean it! In fact, I can clean the whole floor, if you’d like?”

“You don’t need to do that much, Blue,” you say, but his consideration evokes a pleasant warmth in your chest.

“And I can do the dishes!” Papyrus talks over you, snatching the dishcloth from your grip and presenting it to the room as evidence of his promise.

“We shall have this kitchen spotless in no time!” Blue cackles.

You stand. “I can help,” you offer.

“This is gonna sound bad,” Sans says in a hushed voice, “and I get that this house means a lot to you, but I think if you keep worrying about this place, you’re gonna find it harder to let it go.” He picks at his teeth absentmindedly. “Just an observation…”

“But…” You trail off – you were going to insist that you only wanted to help, but no… You _are_ worried about the house. Too worried. You glance at Blue, who has returned his attention to mopping the floor, swiping the mop from side to side with the same enthusiasm with which he whipped the cream, while Papyrus gathers the remaining plates from the table, effortlessly stacking them in one hand, and wiping down the table with the other.

Now you feel _really_ embarrassed. You knew that by renting out the rooms, you’d be opening the house to others, and you’d have to get used to them using the space in whichever way they pleased. The house isn’t your responsibility anymore.

Strangely, it feels as though a piece of your soul has just broken away.

But you have to get used to it.

“Yeah,” you say faintly. “I guess I just got all protective of it. Maybe too protective…” You take a deep breath. “After my grandmother died, I think remodelling this house gave me…purpose? I mean, it gave me something to distract me from feeling sorry for myself.”

If the brothers can hear the sadness in your voice, they make no comment on it. You remember returning home from her funeral, gazing at the huge, empty house, wondering what the hell you were going to do with it. You couldn’t afford to run it, and there was far too much space for just you…the rooms could be intimidating, the hallways long and daunting, when there was no one else running through them.

But you didn’t want to lose it, either. You didn’t want to lose the last piece of your family.

Your grandfather did always say that there was no point in crying over something that you could easily fix – _don’t cry about it, just do it._

“Uh, so I guess it’s hard for me to let it go.” You force a smile, and your temples throb. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, c’mon, now.” Sans scoops Duck up from the floor and gently squeezes a wheeze from him, grinning a grin so wide he’d give the Cheshire Cat a run for his money. “Buck up.”

“Ahh, you wasted a perfect opportunity,” Stretch moans, and he loops an arm around your shoulders again. “I’d have told you to lighten the cluck up.”

Slim groans. “I was gonna say that…”

“Rus, please move!” Papyrus says, swatting him lightly with the dishcloth. He points to the countertop. “I have to clean that!”

“Hmm, yeah,” Sans adds. “Dogs shouldn’t be on the counter, anyway.”

With a sleepy mumble, Slim quite literally slides off the counter, hitting the floor with a dull _thump_. Papyrus ignores him, and busies himself with wiping the surface.

“You are such a disappointment to me,” Scar mutters to the snoozing skeleton.

Slim blindly reaches out for his brother. “Hmm, love ya, too, m’lord.”

A laugh escapes your lips, transforming into a squawk of surprise when the bowl is snatched from your hands by Stretch. He picks a dark spec of something unknown from a string of spaghetti, and knocks it back before you can stop him.  

“Oh, God!” you exclaim. “Why?”

Stretch shrugs. “It’s still food.”

Sans taps your arm. “Here.” He presents a crab apple as if from nowhere. “Fix that headache up.”

“How did you do that?” you ask, hesitantly taking the summoned apple.

Sans’s grin widens. “Eh…magic.”

You strain your senses for the hint of a warm breeze, or the scent of spring rain – scents you have come to associate with Sans and Stretch, you’re still unsure which is which – but with Stretch’s cigarette smoke clogging your nostrils, it’s impossible to detect them. With a huff, you bite into the apple; the moment the juice hits your tongue, the dizzying euphoria rocks through you, and your headache fades.

“Or I had it in my pocket this whole time,” Sans adds breezily. “You can believe what you want.”   

“That’s gross,” you say, but you keep munching on the apple regardless, allowing the delightful high to chase away the lingering residue of your sour mood.

“Don’t get crabby,” Sans retorts. 

“That was awful!” Papyrus barks as he strides past Sans to dump the dirty plates in the sink.

“Don’t you mean… _claw_ -ful?” Sans says just as Papyrus reaches for the taps.

Water explodes from the nozzles when Papyrus turns the handles too suddenly in anger. His only response to Sans’s goading is a high pitched _nyeeeeeeh!_ that pierces your eardrums, but makes you laugh nonetheless. It seems that not only has Papyrus has been unknowingly conditioned to drop puns here and there without his knowledge, but Sans has managed to adapt to his remarks, managing to slip a pun of his own in just about anywhere. No wonder Papyrus can’t escape making some of his own.  

Slim starts awake with a snort, unfolding from his painful looking heap on the floor. “Don’t get crabby,” he mumbles, pointing at you.

Sans chuckles. “Beat ya to it, pal.”

Slim deflates, and licks at his golden fang. “Stop usin’ all the good jokes on her. That’s pretty _shellfish_ , y’know…give a guy a chance, damn.”

“Rus, please move,” Blue says flatly, nudging his outstretched leg with the mop. “I have to have this floor clean enough to see my face!”

Slim responds by lifting each long, bony limb one at a time, giving Blue access. Tutting with irritation, Blue quickly runs the mop beneath each raised limb before they drop, moving on when Slim refuses to shift any more than he already has.

Scar makes an impatient noise and marches from the kitchen. You think for a moment that something has upset him, and you start forwards to follow, but Stretch’s arm around your shoulder tightens.

“He ain’t mad,” he assures you. “He just does that.” He adopts a haughty voice and says, “His Tininess doth nay think it important to inform us of his business.”

You faintly hear Scar’s clipped footsteps travelling up the stairs, and your stomach drops when you remember that he and Boss share a wall – you hope by some miracle that said wall is still intact by tomorrow morning, provided that Scar has the sense to leave his agitated brother alone.

“Heh…I’d play some incidental music to accompany His Smallness’s retreat,” Sans says, “but I lost my trombone.”

“And thank God for it!” Papyrus snaps over his shoulder.

“Bummer,” Stretch says, and fumbles about in the pocket of his hoodie. “I still have mine.”

“You play music?” you ask, genuinely surprised.

Stretch only nods, and Sans’s grin widens, and he says, “Only when it suits me.”

Of course they both play, of all instruments, the trombone. There’s no better instrument suited to a pun-loving skeleton than one with the word _bone_ in it.

“How did you lose it?” you ask Sans.

He shrugs, weighing Duck in his hand. “Guess I misplaced it when we moved.”

Perhaps Boss threw it from the balcony of their apartment – or perhaps, based on the rather uncharacteristic loathing in Papyrus’s voice, maybe _he_ threw it from the balcony.

“That’s a shame,” you say, and Papyrus coughs indignantly. “I would have liked to have heard you play.” You turn to Stretch. “You said you still have yours?”

“Oh, yeah.” Stretch removes his hand from his pocket, holding a small, thin silver wire between his thumb and index finger. “ _Voil_ _à_.”

You stare at the object between his fingers.

A paperclip?

You look between the paperclip and the gleeful, shit-eating grin on Stretch’s face. “I feel like there’s a joke that I’m not getting here.”

“Whatever you say, So-Confused,” he says, returning the paperclip to his pocket. “I can always give you a private performance if you’re curious?”

“Move, please!” Blue cries, startling you before you can answer. He swipes the mop between you and Stretch, furiously scrubbing the floor, and successfully separating you from beneath his lanky brother’s arm.

You take advantage of the interruption to retrieve the pie dish from the table. The second your back is turned, you hear a soft grunt. You glance over your shoulder in time to see Blue removing his elbow from between Stretch’s ribs, a deep set scowl on his face that makes him look _so much_ like Red.

“Would you like any more pie?” you ask them, and they snap to attention.

“Nope,” Stretch says at the same time Blue says, “No, thank you!”

Another smile tugs at your lips, but you turn away before the brothers can see it. With the safe distance between you, you pull the half-empty pie dish towards you while you fish your phone from your pocket. Pretending to count the remaining pie slices, you open your internet browser, and you type into the search bar; _trombone paperclip._

Your sudden bark of laughter gives you away.

_Trombone_ is the French word for _paperclip_.

 

-

 

The next morning, the hole in your kitchen wall is still there.

You weren’t expecting it to be fixed right away, but seeing it stirs an awful feeling in your belly, and drags up the memory of the fury in Boss’s face and the utter hatred in Red’s eyes.

Trying to ignore the sickening churning in your stomach, you tip-toe up the stairs, careful to remain as quiet as you can since it’s still relatively early in the morning, and many of the brothers may still be asleep – it may just be your imagination playing cruel tricks on you, but as you carefully pass Boss’s room, each and every floorboard you set your feet on creaks loud enough to wake the dead.

You don’t take as much care when passing Red’s room; you practically bolt for the stairs leading up to the loft conversions. Once you’re safely in the closest room, you take a moment to catch your breath.

You know you’re being silly – you’re going to be passing by their rooms all day, so you’ll run into one of them eventually. With any luck, you’ll run into Red first – you’re desperate to apologise.

But there are plenty of jobs that you can distract yourself with in the meantime, and don’t require multiple journeys through the house. There are still several boxes filled with your grandmother’s trinkets and collectibles that you need to separate, and then you can always sift through your grandfather’s maps and leaflets he bought every time he went to a new place, _just in case he ever went there again_.

He never did.

Yes, you have more than enough tasks to busy yourself with today.

You spend most of the morning untangling your grandmother’s jewellery, attempting to match up stray earrings with their missing counterparts, and getting distracted by the constant messages relentlessly pinging your phone.

**Sans – 10:03 –** _so i’m kind of a big dill in the herb community_

**Sans – 10:16 –** _did you know that I spent some thyme there?_

**Sans – 10:25 –** _changed me though_

**Sans – 10:34 –** _i had to leaf_

**Sans – 10:41 –** _it just wasn’t mint to be_

**You – 10:45 –** _Bay-leaf it or not, I was in deep with the herb life too_  

**Sans – 10:58 –** _good one_

**Sans – 11:02 –** _better go gar-lick my wounds_

Stretch seemed to be gradually getting bolder with his texts.

**Stretch – 10:23 –** _nice weather we’re having today_

**Stretch – 10:24 –** _ask me about the weather_

**Stretch – 10:26 –** _come on So-Confused_

**You – 10:42 –** _OMG what? What do you want?_

**Stretch – 10:46 –** _really? you gonna rain on my parade like that?_

**Stretch – 10:48 –** _i was just gonna say that its too nice for inside jokes_

**You – 10:57 –** _Wow sorry I almost mist that_

**Stretch – 11:07 –** _oh hail no_

**Stretch – 11:10 –** _theres snow way im letting you beat me at this_

**You – 11:18 –** _OK keep your thunder-wear on_

**Stretch – 11:21 –** _ill have you know im cirrus about weather puns_

**Stretch – 11:24 –** _i make pretty good gust-imates when it comes to cloud jokes buddy_

**Stretch – 11:27 –** _all it takes is a quick brainstorm_

**You – 11:32 –** _OK you win this round_

**Stretch – 11:43 –** _what? could you type that a bit clearer? i haven’t got the best ice-sight_

**You – 11:45 –** _STOP_

Strangely, there’s only one text each from Papyrus and Blue amidst all the pun-based messages.

**Blue – 09:01 –** _Human! I hope that you are feeling better after last night! I thoroughly enjoyed the meal you helped to prepare! We should really do it again some time!_

**Papyrus – 09:05 –** _Good morning, human! I hope that you are not upset after last night! Our time spent cooking was delightfully entertaining and very educational! I hope that we can cook together again soon!_

You send them a quick _thank you_ , and another text asking how their first night in the house was. You send the same text to Slim, but hesitate before you send it to Scar – you’re definitely on better terms now, so you reason that such a simple query is perfectly harmless and _definitely_ not too overbearing…

You refuse to text Red and Boss…and your breakfast roils unpleasantly in your stomach for the rest of the morning.     

You attempt to ignore it by reading through all of the fading leaflets that your grandfather had hoarded over the years.

Most of them are from Ebott…perhaps a couple are from neighbouring counties, but your grandfather never ventured too far from home turf. There are several leaflets about the lake in the south, advertising boat hire and romantic ferry cruises; dozens for the mountains in the north, boasting beautiful winter wonderland slopes and skiing packages for Christmas; a couple selling relaxing cabin getaways in the peaceful forests in the east; and an impressive assortment thrown into what you have dubbed the miscellaneous pile, from restaurants, amusements parks, museums, random events that popped up every year, and…

You pause when you pull out a leaflet for Mt. Ebott, advertising a tour of the _Mysterious Mountain, from which humans never return!_ It isn’t very old, either…perhaps only succeeding the Barrier shattering by a year or so.

You rip it up until the pieces become too small to tear. You don’t want you new tenants to come across this and think you harbouring some kind of hidden grudge. Many humans still resented the monsters for the sacrifices that were made to obtain their freedom, the souls that allowed them to walk free…

The leaflets can be binned, so you pile them into an empty box and haul it down to the kitchen. When you enter, you notice the time on the stove. It’s just after midday.

The brothers… _should_ be awake by now, though you didn’t hear any of them wandering about the house, leaving for work – they can _teleport_ , they hardly need to use the front door – getting breakfast…

Speaking of, you decide that now is a good time to take a small break to eat. Carrying the box of leaflets, you return to your little conversion and settle on the front porch with a sandwich and a mug of tea, _The Myth and Magic of Monsters and Men_ in your lap.  

You notice that another page has been folded down…unless it was already like that before? It may have just gotten caught when you had shut the book in fright that morning on the porch, when Scar levitated one of his bags and threw it into the side of Slim’s head. But when you investigate it, you find that the fold is neatly done, and just faintly – though you could have imagined it – you can smell a warm, pleasant scent like a spring wind…and you deduce that this must have been Sans’s doing. Or Stretch.

You’ll work out the difference between their magic eventually. 

You study the page that the brothers have marked for you: _Trait: Integrity_.

What an odd subject to give you. You do still want to read the entire book from the beginning, but if the brothers are highlighting certain passages in _your_ book, then they might be trying to tell you something.

You sniff – they could have just _talked_ to you, unless they don’t want to seem too bossy, and are content to just give you a gentle nudge in the right direction. Or they can’t be bothered to give you the lecture themselves – they do seem like the can’t-be-bothered type.

It seems like a good chapter, anyway; you were looking forward to reading about the soul traits. Inhaling one half of your sandwich, you settle down and allow the words on the page pull you from the rest of the world.

 

**_TRAIT: Integrity – Introduction_ **

_INTEGRITY_ , _defined, is one possessing strong moral principles, displaying qualities of honesty, and ‘wholeness’, in the sense of consistency of character._

_This is not to say that a SOUL of integrity is wholly brash or commanding, nor self-righteous or prideful, and those who possess integrity are not exempt from dishonesty – integrity is a study of ethics, and moral virtue. To possess integrity is to hold fast to one’s values and principles; it is valuing reason and honour above all else, plagued by the impulse to do what is considered right, regardless of their wellbeing, and of whether anyone is watching – it is to remain truthful to oneself, and to distinguish between brutal honesty, and virtuous honesty._

 

Huh…do Sans and Stretch honestly believe that you possess integrity? The thought of knowing your own trait is…pretty damn cool.

The concept of identifying people by their traits died along with magic; when the last known Sorcerer died, long before your great-grandfather’s time – even your great- _great_ -grandfather’s time – all hope of magic returning to humans was lost. So there was no point in maintaining the lifestyle it required to coexist with humanity. Before the monsters broke free from Mt. Ebott, you couldn’t ask a single human what their trait was without receiving a blank stare and a shrug.

It was almost as if, the second the barrier had cracked, the billions of souls of the world had given a collective gasp, as though awakened from a long, _long_ slumber…like magic had begun to slowly return to the world.

 

_A virtuous and true SOUL is by no means uncorruptible [jump to COUNTERBALANCE: Neutrality] but as a trait, it is regarded as a particularly strong characteristic, second only to perseverance [see TRAIT: PERSEVERANCE, pg. 439], so much so that such traits can often be hard to separate – the traits are so similar in strength, and are often difficult to place on -------s Trait Scale [see pg. 371]._

You blink and peer at the page closely – there’s a thick pen scribble marring the text. A word has been quite violently crossed out.

Why? It’s a fairly new book – you must have picked up a vandalised one by mistake. Perhaps you should exchange it? Or at least get a refund.

_Their positions have been a topic of discussion between experts for many years, and many have settled to rank perseverance higher merely down to the will of the vessels possessing a persevering SOUL; to persevere is to persist regardless of one’s circumstances, to endure and see the vessel through every difficulty in order to survive. To remain true is to challenge obstacles that threaten the vessel, and attempt to overcome them through their own means – however, the vessel can surrender if it believes that to do so is for a cause much bigger, with much more consequence, than their own survival._

_However, like every other trait, integrity has a powerful defence against magic that, unlike perseverance, and rather more like determination [see TRAIT: Determination, pg. 475], is triggered during both a minor and a perfect resonance: the power to resist, leading some experts to rank it higher than perseverance._

_So why does this baffle experts? Why do they struggle to place the traits? In a psychological sense, to persevere is considered to be far stronger, as a virtuous SOUL can choose to surrender, whereas a persevering SOUL will not unless overcome with despair; however, as a defence, a true SOUL certainly outweighs the power of perseverance. What does this mean for a monster, however? What does a SOUL possessing integrity mean when faced with magic? [see CATEGORY: Sorcerer, INTEGRITY pg. 534]_

 

**_TRAIT: Integrity – Minor Resonance_ **

_In terms of a minor resonance, a SOUL of integrity has been noted, in some rare cases, to subconsciously resist the effects of magic._

_The humans would refer to this as something juvenile as: ‘remaining true to oneself’. However, the SOUL must be particularly strong to subconsciously resist magical influence during a minor resonance, and, as we know, the strength of a human’s SOUL varies between subjects – not all SOULs are the same, and whereas some may succumb easily to influence, others will not._

_Why this is so is down to the psychology of integrity, and what it is defined as. During a perfect resonance, the SOUL is exposed, and therefore triggers its defences. Of course, during a minor resonance, these defences are not triggered, so we can only suggest that the resistance of the vessel is a result of the human’s will; whether they have retained their integrity, or succumbed to neutrality. But can this change? Can a SOUL tainted by neutrality regain the strength to resist magical influence? [jump to COUNTERBALANCE: Neutrality]_

_There are no detailed records highlighting notable symptoms of a strong SOUL resisting magical influence – we can only assume that a minor resonance has failed when the subject does not display the effects of magic being inflicted. There are brief descriptions among our research that do detail the vessel experiencing mild pain and nausea, but there is not enough evidence to further testify to this theory._

_This puts into question whether the vessel can, when in control, open themselves to influence through psychological means. When the trait is consciously triggered, the vessel is properly protected from any magical influence. Monsters with the power to conduct a minor resonance, and hoping to refrain from engaging in a CONFLICT, must rely on a human’s ignorance of their own trait in order to overpower them._

_So for the trait to be consciously triggered would suggest that the vessel can control how strongly they can subject themselves to a minor resonance – while there is little evidence to prove this, one can theorise that, based on this observation, combined with the theory that a vessel possessing a SOUL of integrity will surrender if they so wished it, such a human can submit themselves to magical influence, if they so desired._

_Again, there is no concrete evidence to support this – the subjects tested were either too weak of SOUL, or refused to co-operate. So it remains a theory – a human would not allow themselves to willingly submit to a monster, and since we no longer have any viable means for testing, we can only continue to make assumptions based on history and folklore._

 

**_TRAIT: Integrity – Perfect Resonance_ **

_A perfect resonance with a true SOUL, however, can be easily tested and explained. Like it’s fellow traits, sans determination, integrity in itself is not a magic – as a defence, however, it is considered to be incredibly powerful. Depending on the strength of the SOUL, those who rely on their magic to influence the SOUL to suit their whims will be forced to confront their attacker by mundane means; Paralysis will not force the SOUL into stillness, Mass will not control the trajectory of the SOUL, Magnetismus will not attract the SOUL to certain substances, Exchange will not alter the SOUL to accommodate the CONFLICT, Delusion will not trick the SOUL into believing that it is dying, Tearing will not render the SOUL into separate halves, and so on and so forth. However, a true SOUL should not be confused with a just SOUL, which is adaptable [see TRAIT: JUSTICE, pg. 472]; a powerful true SOUL is wholly free, and relies on its original style to pull though._

_Experiments have revealed that the defences harnessed by a true SOUL during a perfect resonance rely wholly on the mind. The stronger the vessel’s state of mind, the stronger their defences. Their psyche manifests during exposure to form a shield of sorts that deflects magical influence, but not magical attacks._

_Using a simple example; while the SOUL can resist Mass, it can be harmed by an object affected by Mass. Using a more complicated example; the SOUL may not be affected by Delusion, but they can be harmed by elemental attacks such as fire, and magic given solid form._

_This is a particular power of the SOUL that, like all traits, cannot be used willingly unless exposed, or unless the vessel is born a Sorcerer – in theory._

_However, while their mental resistance is near impenetrable, their physical strength is weaker than most traits. It is not an offensive SOUL, and has no notable abilities that it can use to attack an opponent, and will often only do so out of necessity. Should a true SOUL choose to fight, it’s attacks will only act as a distraction, until the opponent either gives up, or the vessel chooses to flee._

_Because the SOUL values defence against magic above all else, it leaves the vessel susceptible to significant physical harm. Therefore, based on previous experiments, in order to succeed in a CONFLICT with a true SOUL, a monster must rely on physical attacks – those who depend too much on psychological attacks will be at a disadvantage with a true SOUL, and to count on on the vessel submitting willingly is an impossibility – humans do not surrender to us._

_Though, by definition, the SOUL values virtue and uprightness, it’s will to survive greatly outweighs it’s sense of honour._

 

Ouch…that is pretty harsh. You’re not sure if you want to keep reading…

But you’re too enraptured. You continue:

 

**_TRAIT: Integrity – COUNTERBALANCE, Neutrality_ **

_Neutrality is difficult to properly define, as it can often be misinterpreted. Humans will often attribute this to the mental disorder depression, but it is hardly fair to compare the two. Depression as an illness is a severe condition that must be treated with the proper means; neutrality is merely the abandonment of all values, of all principles. A neutral SOUL feels no sorrow, no joy, no remorse, no desire – a neutral SOUL has not lost the will to live, it simply does not care._

_A neutral SOUL is passive –_

 

The heavy scent of heated metal disturbs you from your intensive study, and you lift your gaze from the book to find Slim lounging across the porch next to you, using the box of leaflets as a support, and casually flicking through a stolen handful.

“Hey,” you say, still not quite used to that little trick – it doesn’t make you uncomfortable, but it’s difficult not to feel startled by the brothers just appearing out of nowhere, with only their unique scents to announce them.

“’Sup?” Slim rumbles, flashing you a smile. “Can I keep these?” He flicks the leaflets.

“Sure,” you say faintly. “Why?”

Slim opens his jacket and slips the stack of leaflets in a hidden pocket, shrugging. “I dunno…wanna know more about Ebott. It’s changed a lot since…” His grin turns playful. “Well, it’s different from what we know.”

“Right.” He wants to learn about Ebott? He’s had five years to do that. Why start now? Then again, Slim does seem the type to put things off for an unnecessary amount of time. You gesture to the box. “Help yourself.”

He already is, shuffling through another handful of leaflets, flicking open the ones he likes the look of, and pocketing those that elicit a thoughtful hum. You try to catch glimpses of the types of leaflets he’s keeping; most of them appear to be for tourists, some for restaurants, but he pauses on a flyer that may have been given to you in the past – you can’t imagine your grandfather ever accepting such a thing.

It’s a flyer for a new nightclub in the city, although based on how ragged the edges of the paper are, it may not be so new. Slim studies the paper, then folds it and slips it into his jeans pocket.  

When he seems to have finished his search, you ask, “No work today?” It’s less intrusive than asking, _so, you got a job, or what?_

“Uh-huh,” he mumbles, making himself comfortable on your porch, folding his hands behind his head. “’M on break now.”

“Oh…” You mark your current page in the book and place it to one side. “Do you work from home?” That would explain why he seemed perfectly happy with the basement.

“Sure do.” Slim half-opens one eye. “Means I can take a break whenever I want.”

“What do you do?”

Slim hums. “I’m in internet security.”

“That sounds pretty cool!”

Slim makes a strange expression, not quite decided between mischievous and apprehensive. “Ehh, not the kind I do.”

You laugh softly. “What? Oh…” You recall him asking about the Wi-fi in the house, but that’s your only clue. He’s a hacker? That’s a little frightening, knowing that you have a neighbour that could slip his technological fingers into your computer and pull it apart from the inside…but it’s also a little exciting, like something out of a spy movie.

Either way, you needn’t worry about your internet search history being used for blackmail. All you’ve ever used it for was emails, the occasional Google search regarding _completely harmless_ things, and maybe social media once every blue moon.

“Wow,” you say numbly. “So, do you work for anyone? Officials?”

Slim closes his eyes and plays his tongue around his golden fang – a recurring habit, clearly, but whether it’s out of nervousness or just a twitch is still a mystery to you. “I…work for the clients with the deepest pockets.”

You swallow a huge mouthful of tea to dislodge a growing lump in your throat, and say, “I’m not going to ask, because unknowingly harbouring a person suspect of illicit activities is not a punishable offence.”

Slim chuckles. “Wise.”

You excuse yourself only to give your empty mug and plate a quick wash, and return to the porch to find Slim snoring softly.

Damn… It may seem like you’re desperate, but you’d wanted to ask him if he’s seen Red or Boss at any point, to confirm that they’re not hiding out of embarrassment or stubbornness.

Instead, you scoop up your book as quietly as you can, careful not to disturb Slim; there are several overflowing boxes in the attic that are calling to you. When you rise from your crouch, you catch the scent of burning. Burning paper…

You stiffen – that smell definitely belongs to Red. Frantically, you search the yard between the house and your little conversion for any sign of him. But Slim is the only skeleton in the vicinity.

Perhaps you imagined it, since Red was on your mind, but walking towards the house, you catch the scent again, and you halt to search.

You are quite alone. You’re definitely imagining it.

With a disappointed sigh, you continue onwards towards the house, hugging the book to your chest tightly. The house is still very quiet, and when you reach the third floor, you pause outside of Red’s room.  

_Red will come to you_. But can you wait that long?

You had always used the give-them-space-until-they-get-tired-or-bored approach with the children at the school, and to rather successful results…but you really need to stop comparing the brothers to five-year-olds. You need to have faith in Sans’s promise; Red will find you when he’s ready.

_And when he does, then you can talk to edgy,_ he’d said _._

You halt in the doorway of the east loft conversion when you find Slim lounging amongst a large scattering of boxes, eyes closed, arms folded across his chest, the air in the room almost suffocating with the scent of his magic.

“How did –?” Scratch that…you know how he beat you here. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry…”

Slim rumbles some unintelligible answer and turns over.

“I’m going to be making a lot of noise in here,” you warn him.

With a chuckle, Slim props himself up with one arm, head resting in his palm. “Don’t really care. You don’t mind if I hang around, do you?”

“Well, no,” you say, kneeling and pulling a large box towards you. “I’m just worried that you haven’t gotten enough sleep, that’s all.” He never did reply to your text.

Slim hooks a finger over the rim of one of nearest boxes and peers inside. “I sleep plenty, honey. But I’ll nap pretty much at any chance I get. Sleep heals, y’know?”

Honestly, Slim seems like he’s just plain lazy…but if that’s what he wants to call it, then far be it from you to correct him. And he’s not lying, really…

You shrug it off and delve into the new box, filled with your grandfather’s accessories; handkerchiefs, scarves, hats, gloves, and the like. The gloves in particular are in good shape, made of fine leather. Would they fetch a good price…?

“You sellin’ this stuff?”

You glance up – Slim is balancing a thick book in one hand, analysing the cover. You manage to make out the title: _Find X: The Magic of Mathematics_. You remember receiving that as an impromptu present from your grandmother after you complained about your algebra homework being so useless. Her eat-your-words plan backfired when your grandfather read it out of curiosity, and found a mistake in one of the equations.

“I was going to,” you say, “but if there’s anything that you like the look of, then you can have it.” Besides, you’d probably only get good money for the jewellery, maybe one or two first edition books… _maybe_ a few pieces of furniture… 

“Hmm…cool,” Slim says, flicking open the book. He snorts. “This is all pretty low-level stuff.” He points at the open page.

“That’s a theory book,” you say, picking through your box. “It’s basically saying that numbers are everywhere, and math is never wrong.”

“Eh, could be a fun read.” With a satisfied grin, Slim places the book to one side and resumes shuffling through the rest of the contents of the box. “So…” he rasps after a pause, “heard you got into a little spat with m’lord yesterday.”

A glove slips from your fingers. “Oh, God,” you groan. “You heard all that?”

Slim nods slowly, a taunting grin tugging at his mouth. “Yep.”

“I really didn’t mean to yell at him,” you insist. “He just…the things he said really upset me, and –”

“Hey, look, I get it, honey,” Slim cuts you off. “He can really rub people up the wrong way, sometimes. Don’t worry about it.” He withdraws another book and flicks it open, leaning back on one arm. “M’lord ain’t gonna lose sleep over it.” 

“I really hate yelling at people,” you mumble.

Slim snorts. “Uh, I wouldn’t have guessed. You seemed to hold your own pretty good with Edgy.”

“Oh…” You attempt to recall your emotions during that heated argument last night, and then during your brief argument with Scar earlier that afternoon – you were far more terrified of Scar than you were of Boss.

But you do remember feeling positively _awful_ afterwards. You only shouted at Scar because he was being so rude! Honestly, there’s never any need to be so impolite.

You shouted at Boss because he _punched a hole through your kitchen wall_ , and refused to do the gentlemanly thing and apologise for it.

And you shouted at Red because…well, because he didn’t seem to understand why you were so upset with his brother. And you were just _so angry_ at the time.

… You may not like confrontation, but you certainly never allowed anyone to walk all over you before, and you aren’t about to start now.

“I just…” you try. “I don’t know…I never liked it when people…when they –“

Slim, thankfully, foils your attempt at a poor explanation with a wave of a hand. “Whatever. Ain’t nothin’ to get all worked up about.” He laughs softly. “Y’know, I think out of everyone here, m’lord actually gets you. Shorty…Red, too.”

You gawk at him. “Are you kidding? Red lets Boss _hit_ him!”

Slim snickers. “Yeah, okay…but where _we_ come from…” he gestures to himself, “…you kinda…can’t afford to take shit from anyone. You gotta show some kind of authority. If you don’t, then people will just trample you.”

You open your arms in an _are-you-serious?_ gesture. “Red _let’s_ Boss _hit_ him!” you reiterate.

Slim shrugs as he debates between two books. “Yeah, but that’s for them to figure out. S’none of my business.”

A frown pulls at your brows. “What about you?” you ask, turning your attention to the ball of ties – there’s a handkerchief tangled in amongst them. “You take shit from Scar.”

“Hmm, yeah, but that’s because he’s my brother. He’s _allowed_ to give me shit.” He chuckles at the incredulity that must be evident on your face. “Don’t think too much into it, honey. Seriously, it ain’t worth the trouble. I’m fine with it.”

Okay, you may be an only child, but you can’t imagine that brothers wouldn’t treat each other the way Scar treats Slim, or Boss treats Red…

Slim’s rasping laugh breaks through your haze of troubled thoughts. “Heh…I think you really threw him for a loop, though. He wasn’t expecting you to talk back.”

“Have I incurred his wrath, now?” you ask solemnly, focusing on extracting the handkerchief from the mess of tangled ties.

“Oh, no,” Slim assures you. “Definitely piqued his interest, though.”

“In…a good way?” you ask hesitantly – you don’t really want Scar as an enemy.

You look up, but Slim’s vanished. You catch the scent of his magic, before a long, thin, bony arm loops over your shoulders. You start, but you quickly relax when you realise that Slim has materialised from nowhere beside you, and he pulls you close – so close that all you can smell is the sickly sweet cigarette smoke deeply embedded into his clothes.

“Listen, sweetheart,” he says, “the important thing is that m’lord knows that he made a mistake. He’ll work to fix it, promise. It just takes him a bit of time to realise that. We’re still adapting to Surface life, y’know.”

Even after five years? You can only assume that there were parts of the Underground that were cruller than others…

“Yeah, okay,” you mumble.

Satisfied, Slim releases you and blithely rummages through a nearby box.

Since it’s somewhat on-topic, you ask, “You haven’t seen Red, have you?” If he was actually awake on your porch, they maybe he could smell Red’s magic, too. “Or Boss?”

Slim’s grin is dark when he turns to face you. “Nope. Been in my cave all morning. But I know that edgy is definitely avoiding you.”

That stings, but you’re not surprised. “I’ve got to talk to him.”

“Look, you can try,” Slim says, lifting an old, cracked alarm clock from the box and peering at it. “But…uhh, d’you ever figure out what those headaches were about?”

You pause mid-way through untangling the handkerchief from a screwed up tie bundle – how did that get in there, anyway? “I think so. Something to do with a resonance. Isn’t that what they’re called?”

“Uh-huh.” Slim’s gaze flicks to you and he raises a brow. “And…it hasn’t clicked yet?”

“What hasn’t –?” You drop the handkerchief/tie ball in shock. “Boss was…he was trying to use _magic_ on me?”

You’re horrified – the headaches, _of course!_ Why didn’t you realise that earlier? Last night…the day of the tour…  

It would certainly explain why you’ve suddenly been getting so many – you were never prone to them as a child, and only got the occasional hormonal headache; a migraine every now and then when you were stressed…

You can’t quite reign in your disgust, putting a hand protectively to your chest. Magic isn’t illegal, this you know, but to attempt to use it on some unsuspecting persons... It’s almost a little…violating.

“Why?” you gasp. “Why would he try to do something like that?” 

“ _Hmmm_ …” Slim’s grin curls, turning sinister. “Yeah, why _would_ your brother do something like that, shorty?”

A soft grunt draws your attention to the door, and you just manage to catch Red’s eye, peeking around the frame, before he vanishes in a blink, leaving behind the taste of his burning magic.

“Wait!” you blurt, scrambling to your feet.

Slim’s chuckling floats after you as you bolt down the stairs, reaching Red’s door, thankfully, without slipping and tumbling to the floor in your haste. You raise your hand to knock…but hesitate.

Would Red really teleport back into his room after being caught, knowing that you would chase him? Or would he do the sensible thing and disappear to someplace that you could never hope to find him?

Nevertheless, it’s worth a try, so you gently rap your knuckles against the wood –

The door swings open almost immediately, and you flinch back with a choked gasp.

“ _What?_ ” Red snaps, glaring at you between the open gap with all the intensity of hellfire…but there’s a noticeable blush tinting his cheeks, and small beads of sweat pepper his temples.

“Um…” Your words die in your throat – you weren’t actually expecting him to be in there. A thousand different questions rush through your mind at once.

You want to apologise for upsetting him…you want to make him understand your own upset at his brother’s attempt at using magic on you…you want to _scream_ at him for _defending him_ when Boss tried to use magic on you without your consent…

But all you can say is, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Red hisses, and slams the door shut with more force than necessary, shaking the wall, rattling the nearby light fixtures…

Rattling your very bones.

 

-

 

There’s still a hole in your kitchen wall.

Slim had vanished once you’d returned to the loft conversion, leaving you resume your cleaning in peace, with only your miserable musings to keep you company. When they became too loud and rather nasty – _Red hates you…he really hates you…you’re awful…done it again, haven’t you? Just can’t keep your mouth shut…_ – you’d decided to finish up early, needing to clear your head before it exploded.

The first thing you see when you enter the kitchen on your way out is The Hole; the awful reminder of your argument, and provoking memories of Boss trying to affect you with his magic. You shudder at the thought of it actually working on you. Had it not been for whatever power your soul seems to possess, what would have happened? What had he been planning to do to you? Would he have forced you into a conflict, had he not tuned his wrath on Red? 

You tear your eyes away from The Hole, and, to your relief – as though the universe had decided to grant you reprieve from your misfortune – you find the one person who you know could chase away a dreary mood with nothing but his smile.

“Hey, Blue,” you sigh.

Blue turns from his task by the sink and beams at you. “Good afternoon, human! How are you?”

You’re already feeling better thanks to the unbridled joy in his voice. “I’m okay. Did you sleep well last night?”

“Oh, certainly!” Blue chirps. “Did you not get my message?”

“Your…?” You pull your phone from your back pocket, and see that Blue did indeed text you back…multiple times. So wrapped up in your own desolation, you hadn’t noticed. Sans and Stretch have also flooded your inbox with joke after joke after joke…you decide to save those for when you need a positive pick-me-up. “Right, sorry. I was a little busy this morning. So you slept okay?”

“Yes! I had a wonderful night’s sleep!” Blue insists, but there’s a slight waver to his voice, and his cheeks flush a deep navy blue – what you have come to learn is a tell-tale sign that he’s not being entirely honest.

“Was there something wrong, Blue?” you ask. “Was the bed not comfortable eno–?”

Blue holds out a hand to stop you, alarm flashing in his sockets. “No! Human, the bed was magnificent! I…um…” He rubs the back of his head, and his smile turns sheepish. “I…ah…was so excited to sleep in my new home that…I just could actually _get_ to sleep.”

That’s adorable. You vaguely wonder if Papyrus had the same problem, considering how he and Blue are so alike. “Aren’t you tired?”

“Nope!” Blue declares proudly. “I was up bright-eyed at the crack of dawn!”

You park yourself at the table. “Why? Did you have work?”

“I did, indeed! I have to get there early, you see!”

“Is that right? What do you do?”

Blue’s eyes seem to sparkle, thrilled by what you consider to be a pretty mundane query – your colleagues at the school never like talking about their job unless it’s to complain. Blue, on the other hand, is smiling as though he’s just won this month’s jackpot.

He props his fists on his hips. “I have a wonderful job as a member of a highly trained guard of a popular peddler’s paradise! I am tasked with protecting the vendors from foul deeds executed by dastardly thieves!”

You blink. Peddlers…vendors… “You mean…you’re a mall cop?”

Blue nods with enthusiasm, his smile never faltering. “Yes! It’s wonderful! They say I’m the best they’ve ever had! I watch through multiple screens to ensure that no wares are whisked away without payment! I have caught thirty-nine culprits since I started working there!”

Though as entertaining as it is to imagine Blue violently tackling a shoplifter to the ground, brandishing handcuffs and cackling maniacally, you’re relieved to hear that he works with the CCTV team instead of the floor team; the thought of Blue getting hurt makes you feel a little sick.

And no one else would appreciate having to scour the CCTV of a shopping mall for hours on end nearly as much as Blue seems to. What you wouldn’t give to possess even a tiny portion of his never-ending enthusiasm.

“Wow, Blue,” you say, “that sounds amazing!”

The deep blush returns to Blue’s cheeks, and he utters a soft _mweh-heh_.

“But why do you only work part time?” you ask, glancing at the clock on the fridge – it reads ten minutes past four. “If they like you, then why haven’t they given you a full time position?” There’s no surprise that he’s incredibly competent at his job; he seems to pick up skills unnaturally quickly, and masters them within minutes.

“Oh, that’s because I’m still on what they call my probation period!” Blue says. “I am still a novice, and apparently I must meet expectations by a certain date! After that, they said they may increase my working hours! They all say that they would like to keep me!”

“Well, I hope they realise that they’d be very lucky to have you,” you say sincerely.

With an embarrassed _mweh-heh_ , Blue turns his back on you, returning his attention to whatever was occupying him before you interrupted.

“Honestly!” he tuts sharply. “It hasn’t even been a day!”       

Though he appears ruffled, his irritation doesn’t seem to be directed at you. Curious about his abrupt change in behaviour, you carefully approach him. “What are you doing? Getting dinner?”

Blue shakes his head. “I am attempting to clean the mess that my brothers have left!” he says in a huff. “See! Look at this!”

You peer into the sink – three stained coffee mugs have been left, next to a single plate covered with crumbs.

_This_ is a mess?

“I was going to leave it,” Blue says, folding his arms, “and perhaps leave a sternly worded note reminding them to wash up their clutter! But I know how much this house means to you, so I have been debating on whether to just see to it myself, or leave it for my lazy brothers!”

“It doesn’t really matter to me, Blue,” you insist. “I’m working on taking more of a backseat when it comes to the house.”

“Oh…” Blue’s brow creases. “So, what about the wall?”

You refuse to glance at The Hole. “Oh, no,” you say sternly, “I’m still set on that.”

Blue shrugs – the casual gesture reminds you _so much_ of Sans that it throws you, and you briefly wonder if you’ll ever get used to seeing the brothers display traits they have adopted from each other. They just look so similar…almost frighteningly so. It’s like they’re clones of each other, rather than brothers.

“Well, I suppose I should leave a note, instead,” Blue muses. “Though my brothers do have a terrible habit of ignoring them!” Blue throws up his hands in defeat. “I’ll just do it myself!”

“Do you –” You manage to cut yourself off when you realise that you’re in protective mode again, but isn’t this just being polite? There’s no harm in offering to help, is there? “I can dry, if you want?” you offer.

But Blue isn’t fooled. His grin turns eerily sly. “How about this, human? I shall give you a riddle, and if you answer it correctly, then you may help me!”

“Huh…okay,” you say, cheeks flushed.

“Mweh-heh…what has a head and a tail, but no legs?”

“Oh, this is easy!” you say triumphantly. “A worm!”

“Ah-hah!” Blue hollers, “incorrect! It –” He pauses. “Oh, wait…I suppose that a worm does have a head…a tail…and no legs…”

“So what was the answer?”

Blue’s brow furrows. “A penny. I may have to think about that one…”

Aw…you didn’t mean to ruin his riddle. “Maybe you could say, _what has a head, a tail, two faces, but no legs?”_

Blue’s face lights up. “Ah, a magnificent idea! Yes, a coin does have two faces. Thank you, human!”

“No problem. So…I can help with the dishes?”

Blue grumbles. “But you didn’t give me the answer I was looking for!”

“But I did help you with the riddle,” you try. “Come on, Blue! It’s only a few cups…”

That dark blush returns to Blue’s cheeks. “Fine, fine! If you insist!”

You retrieve a dishcloth, smugly pleased, while Blue fills the sink with water. “So, uh…what did you do before you became a mall cop?” you ask.

Blue chuckles. “I was a member of the Royal Guard!”

“What?” You certainly weren’t expecting that. He’d actually _succeeded_ in joining the royal family’s elite guard? “When did…how…?”

“Oh, it was after we left the Underground!” Blue explains. “Though her Majesty seemed to think that we didn’t need a Royal Guard after the Barrier broke…”

Blue’s babble becomes white noise – you think back to the _watch-don’t-participate_ rule, his super-secret cooking/training sessions… How on this earth did he manage to convince the head of the Guard –

_Undyne!_ That’s where you’d heard the name before!

– that he was Royal Guard material? Did it have something to do with this Alphys that he keeps mentioning? You file away a mental reminder to look up _Alphys_ later…

You blink and force yourself to tune back in to Blue’s endless chatter. “…had a very important role, human!” He fills the water with an unnecessary amount of dish soap. “Her Majesty made me a representative! I was to be a perfect example to the humans that monsters are nothing to be afraid of!”

Now you’re confused; that sounds more like a mascot than a royal guard. “What kind of things did you have to do?” You really hope that Blue never had to physically hurt someone.

“Hmm, it’s all a bit complicated.” As he speaks, Blue lists them off with his fingers. “I attended public talks…people were rather rude, at first, and shouted at me, but I think that’s just because they were interested! I opened up a chatroom online so people could ask me questions…many of them were a little…” Blue’s smile twitches, “…odd…but I answered every question I was given, you know? It was my duty to ensure that any query was answered with great care and attention!”

Blue pauses to turn off the tap, carefully reaching over the daunting mountain of bubbles threatening to breach the edge of the sink. “I was invited to schools to teach the children about monsters…that was my favourite thing to do! But some of the children cried, and some schools got a few complaints…but a lot of them loved me! They asked me all kinds of questions, and the children were always so happy to see me!”

A smile pulls at your lips. Oh, yeah, he was definitely a mascot.

Blue catches your grin and beams. “I was very popular, you know!”

“A representative, huh?” you say thoughtfully. “Did you have to do interviews? Like on TV?”

“Oh, yes,” Blue says. “But I don’t think you can watch them here.”

“Why not?” Have they been taken down in recent months? Though you may have never seen any of these special interviews, too busy taking care of your grandparents’ affairs and the house to pay much attention current news, you can’t imagine those interviews being lost to the world in such a short time – five years isn’t long, really. There must be some lurking about on the internet.

“It’s a little complicated,” Blue says again, and he looks harassed. “It was very demanding, but her Majesty was so pleased with everything that I’d done for monsters! I mean, it’s nothing like being _Captain_ of the Royal Guard, but Alphys is very proud of me!”

“And now?” you ask.

“And now…” Blue deflates. “It’s, um…it’s a little hard to explain.”

Oh, no…did he get fired? He looks so dejected. “Hey, don’t worry. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Blue gazes up at you. “No, no, it’s not that I don’t want to tell you!” he insists. “I just don’t really know how to.”

“Okay,” you say firmly. “Don’t tell me. Don’t stress, alright?”

“I can assure you, human, there’s nothing stressful about it,” Blue says airily, waving a hand. “But perhaps it would be best to talk to Sansy and Paps about it. They know more about all of this than I do.”

“Um…I will,” you say. What would Sans and Stretch know? Wouldn’t it be better to hear the tale straight from the horse’s mouth? Though…you get the strange sense that Blue may have been referring to something else… 

“I…Oh! That’s how you know the queen!” you say excitedly, recalling his peppermint tea recommendation. And if Blue is on speaking terms with the queen, then perhaps the rest of the brothers are, too? It certainly explains how Papyrus seems to know the king… 

Blue laughs. “Mweh-heh! Yes! She and I used to talk quite frequently! Did you know that she was the one who accepted me into the Royal Guard? After I convinced her to keep it, she made me a member! Though all she told me to do was stand there and look cute…”

_Oh,_ that makes so much sense. You remember enough about Undyne from the first televised address from the monsters, standing tall and proud beside the royal family. She is certainly a force to be reckoned with; brash, loud, a little violent, and she looks positively terrifying at times, with teeth that look like their could tear a grown man in two.

Of course, positioning the ever-smiling, cute-as-a-button Blue beside her was a very wise move on the queen’s part.

“Hmm, yes…” Blue murmurs, and scrubs the crumb-speckled plate with purpose. “But I don’t mind working where I do now! I really enjoy it! And it’s really for the best that I don’t try to join the Royal Guard again.”

“But why?” you ask. “You seem to really love it, Blue! Why stop?”

Blue only shrugs. “It’s a bit…” He trails off.

You nod. “Complicated,” you supply for him. “Got you.”

_It’s complicated_ can mean one of two things; either it is, in fact, a complicated subject to explain; or Blue doesn’t want to talk about it.

You opt for the latter, and decide to change the subject to save Blue the upset – you can always do a little research later. “What does Pappy do? I haven’t seen him today.” He hasn’t texted you, either.

Blue waves a had dismissively, flicking soap suds over his shoulder. “Oh, who knows? He _says_ he works for some big company, but he sleeps all day!”

Oh…you were referring to Papyrus, but Blue seems to have mistaken you – it sounds like he’s describing Stretch.

You choose to roll with it. “Maybe he works night shifts?” you suggest.

“Perhaps.” Blue muses, handing you the thoroughly de-crumbed plate. “He does like the night-time, after all!” 

You take the plate and wipe it down. “He does?”

Blue nods. “He really likes stars and things like that. He studies them quite a lot! He and Sansy like to talk about them sometimes, and that makes me happy!” He hands you a clean mug before you’ve finished drying the plate. “I’m glad Pap can finally talk to someone about it! He never used to tell anybody. I think he was embarrassed.”

“Why would he be embarrassed?” you ask – perhaps your grandfather has some old astrology books, or maybe you have some from your teenage witch phase? Would Stretch – or Sans, for that matter – appreciate a book that claims reading the stars can tell you your fortune?

They may appreciate the humour of it.

“Well, we didn’t have stars in the Underground,” Blue says lightly.

“Oh, jeez,” you blurt, your grip on the dishcloth tightening. “Blue, I’m sorry…I didn’t think of that…”

Blue shakes his head and hands you another mug. “What? Don’t be ridiculous!” He flashes you a wide smile. “We had these stones in Waterfall. They were all over the ceiling, and sparkled just like stars do! Monsters would make wishes on them, and they would read their horoscopes…I mean, they were always the same, since the stones never changed…but that didn’t matter! They were very popular! There was even a place in Waterfall where monsters would go to make their wishes! Pap probably finds it embarrassing because they weren’t real stars…”

A jab of sympathy strikes you in the heart, leaving it aching. How many monsters put all of their faith in false stars, wishing that they could see the real ones someday?

The memory of your conversation with Slim in the attic comes to you slowly, and Blue’s voice becomes white noise again; _Where we come from, you can’t afford to take shit from anyone._

You blink, at once tuning back in to Blue’s gleeful chatter. Slim made the Underground sound far more sinister than Blue has…

“I used to take him there all the time!” he continues, scrubbing the next mug, “I think that’s why he ended up liking stars so much. We would take an old telescope and pretend that the stones were real stars, and he started bringing all these different books about space and planets that he found in the dump…I didn’t understand any of it, but Pap would get really into it! He’d tell me all about the science behind stars, what they were…and he sometimes made wishes on them, too! Sometimes, I still catch him outside staring at the sky with Sansy –”

Blue suddenly drops the mug, and it hits the water with a loud _splosh!_

You almost drop your own mug in fright. “What –?”

Blue suddenly grabs you by the sleeve, pulling you into a stoop and placing a finger to his teeth. “Don’t tell him I told you this! He _still_ finds it really embarrassing!” He chuckles, and a deep blush blooms on his cheeks. 

You relax. “Of course I won’t,” you promise.

Blue’s smile widens, when his gaze is suddenly drawn to something over your shoulder. “Oh…hello, brother!”

You turn in time to see Red suck in a sharp breath, stiffening. But before you can stop him, he’s gone, disappearing when you blink in surprise.

You start forwards to chase after him…but will you just get a face-full of his bedroom door, again? It seems that he’s not quite ready to talk to you, yet… 

“Well, I don’t know why he did that,” Blue says irritably. “Just this morning, he’d asked me how you were doing.” Blue returns his attention to the sink, tutting.  “He could have just asked you himself…”

 

-

 

Two days pass – you don’t see Red again.

On top of that, your _Haunted as Fuck_ doormat still hasn’t arrived. You plan to give the company another twenty-four hours before you demand a refund.  

And The Hole in your kitchen wall is still there.

You’re rather irritable this morning, and you chalk it down to the stress of the past two days – one of the teachers was off sick, and another child seemed to catch the bug, vomiting all over your foot only seconds after telling you that _something was coming from their belly_.

That, and you’ve been thinking non-stop about Red and his peculiar behaviour. You’re certain that he’s been stalking you, his presence hinted by the faint trails of burning that followed you to and from work. You have a mind to just confront him about it and get it over with – his flitting about you is both insulting and frustrating – but you continue to hold out hope that when he’s ready, he will still come to you of his own volition, and not because his brothers convinced him to.

To distract yourself from caving first, you plan to tackle that ugly groove in the window frame of Scar’s bedroom.

The curtains were open when you’d checked upon waking, indicating that Scar was up, and when you knocked on his door, there was no answer. He must be out – in fact, the house was eerily quiet this morning. Honestly, his presence wouldn’t have mattered; your temper is so thin today you feel as though you can take on the world. 

Armed with a ladder, your toolbox, a pair of thick gloves, goggles, and a fat packet of sandpaper, you get to work.

It takes a mere five minutes to smooth the gash out, your actions powered by your foul mood, and you descend the ladder to fetch the bug screen and power drill – it will have to be repainted another day, since you have very little left from you previous work on the windows, but with most of the brothers out, you can finally attach the screen properly without distraction. 

When you step away from the ladder, a soft grunt has you turning towards the porch stairs. Sans is sitting on the highest step, watching you with a strange smile.

“Using the window of time given to you, huh?” he asks pleasantly. “With His Smallness out?”

“Very funny.” You force a smile – it’s the first time you’ve seen him since the disastrous dinner. Though, like his brothers, he has been messaging you during what you assume are dull periods at work.

“In a bad mood, by any chance?” Sans asks.

Your cheeks heat. “Why?”

“That smile makes you look like you’re holding in a fart.”

A laugh bursts from your tight, scowling lips. “That’s disgusting!”

With his trademark shrug and a soft chuckle, Sans says, “Made you laugh though, right?”

Your pocket suddenly buzzes, and you pull out your cell phone, the screen displaying two incoming messages.

**Slim – 09:11 –** _slept good_

**Slim – 09:15 –** _thanks_

Thanks to Sans’s crude joke and Slim’s God-awful timing, your sour mood is gone within seconds – there was no need for Slim to answer such a simple query after two days. Perhaps he’s forgotten that he’s seen you since then.

You glance at the ladder, then back to Sans. “Did I wake you with all my sanding?”

“Nothin’ wakes me,” Sans replies, rising from his perch on the top step. “Got work, anyway.”

You return your phone to your back pocket. “Can I ask what it is you do? Where do you work?”

Sans unabashedly scratches his backside. “In the city.”

A busy job, then. Perhaps something in an office? “You seem to have a lot of time to message me,” you accuse him playfully.

His grin twitches. “There’s always a lull between breakfast and lunch.”

“Ah-hah, so you work in catering!” You remember well enough from your retail days that any food establishment’s busiest hours are between ten and eleven, and noon and one.

Sans nods. “Yep. Hot dog stand.”

That explains all the food-based puns he’s been sending you over the past few days, and how he can afford his room – many of the richer monsters are all in the food business.

But a simple hot dog stand? That’s all? Even a monster-based hot dog stand wouldn’t do particularly well. There’s a hotdog stand stationed on every other corner in the city.

“Is it yours, or do you work for someone?” you ask instead of some awfully personal question about how business is getting on.

But Sans is wise to your suspicions, revealed by a raised brow and a knowing smirk. “S’mine. And believe it or not, business is good. Among humans more than monsters.”

The revelation throws you a little. “Humans by your hotdogs?”  

“Oh, yeah. But you gotta pick your location. Can’t set up shop in suburbia where we’re not welcome.”

A painful knot forms in your gut, and you’re reminded of the leaflet advertising the mysteries of Mt. Ebott, before you’d ripped it to pieces. “Right. Of course.”

“But city folk are always looking for a quick boost,” Sans continues. “They don’t buy for food, they do that elsewhere. They buy my ‘dogs for a kick.”

You laugh. “ _Dogs?_ ”

“Apostrophe-Dog. It’s trademarked. Look it up.”

“No, I believe you.” Buying monster hotdogs for a kick…his words evoke an image of him lurking in a dark, dingey back-alley, pulling open his coat to reveal an assortment of frankfurters and bratwursts and saying _wanna by a ‘Dog?_    

“Oh!” you suddenly cry. “Do you sell water sausages?” You recall Sans commenting on them some time ago.

Sans nods. “Got a supplier farther south who has far too many and not enough charisma to sell ‘em.”

“Enter Sans,” you say, gesturing to him, “the most charismatic skeleton this side of Ebott.”

With a soft chuckle, he pulls something from his pocket and runs it over his skull with a dull scraping sound, akin to a nail gliding across metal.

You snort, then dissolve into giggles – it’s a comb. You nearly ask why on earth a skeleton would own a comb, but… Your giggles evolve into laughter, erupting straight from your belly, increasing in volume the longer Sans keeps running the plastic accessory across his dome-like skull.

Clearly he owns it just to use it in situations exactly like this one.

“What can I say?” he says breezily. “ _Charisma_ is my middle name.”

“Oh my God, stop,” you beg. “You look ridiculous.”

Sans pockets the comb with a shrug. “Sorry. Sometimes I’m _comb_ _over_ with the urge to do it.”

“So business is booming?” you say when your laughter subsides.

“Like you wouldn’t believe. But like I said, you gotta pick your location, and make your timing count. Early morning and noon, office buildings. You got people pouring out like rabid Temmies looking for something to wake ‘em up.”

Whatever a _Temmie_ is, they don’t sound very pleasant if Sans is likening them to hungry nine-to-fivers.

“Then between breakfast and lunch, we hit the tourist areas,” Sans continues. “If the weather’s nice, we hit the lake in the south. Sometimes we go to Mt. Ebott…”

As happy as you are this his little business is doing so well, given the current climate, something doesn’t quite sit right with you.

You can vaguely remember a small conversation you’d overheard at the school once between two colleges. One of them had been to a _monster bar_ , and it was _so fascinating_ , and she should _really take her husband next time, because he would find it positively thrilling!_ At the time, it hadn’t struck you as something particularly bothersome, but after finding that leaflet…

She had made it sound like she had gone to some kind of rare, extraordinary museum exhibit. 

“Does it upset you that part of the novelty is that you’re…” You pause. “Well…a monster?”

“Hey, if it sells, then I don’t care,” Sans counters. “Sure, part of it is probably ‘cause I’m a monster, sellin’ monster food. And yeah, it pisses Red off, but humans aren’t gonna stop buyin’ ‘em, are they? If they do it only to tell their friends that they’ve tried monster food, then whatever. And they aren’t gonna stop lookin’ at me like I’m some kind of anomaly. May as well make a few G’s out of it.”

As maturely as he’s handling the situation, you feel a little bitter. The very idea of your _human-ness_ being some kind of novelty to someone sets your teeth on edge. But Sans really does look perfectly fine with the prospect that his monster appeal is the driving force behind his sales…

“I noticed that you said _we_ a couple of times,” you say instead of pushing the subject further. “Is the _apostrophe-dog_ stand a family business, by any chance?”

Sans chuckles. “Heh, yeah. Red’s there now, doing the morning rush.”

You gawk. “Red is?” Ah…he _did_ just mention Red. “Wow, so…is it just the two of you?”

“Hmm, Stretch runs shift sometimes, but since he got his second job, he’s been doin’ less hours.”

“Just you and Red, huh? And business is really booming with him at the stand?” The image of Red handing a human a hotdog and wishing them a good day is so surreal that it’s almost impossible to imagine.

Sans laughs. “Nah, not really. But he’s been asking to hold the stand a lot recently.”

His words are like a cold fist to the heart – it’s not hard to work out that’s because of you. “Right. Good for him, I guess.”

If Sans can hear the bitterness in you tone, poorly concealed as it was, instead of commenting on it, he says, “Red doesn’t like humans. He never has, so it’s not a reflection on you, or anything. There’s something about them he doesn’t trust.”

You can’t really blame him for that – eternal imprisonment beneath the earth would give anyone good cause for mistrust.

“But…” Sans pauses, then closes his eyes. “Don’t take it personally, okay? I think just…keep in mind that we’ve come from very different worlds.”

A world with a wide open sky, and a world where stones were considered stars…

You nod. “Of course. I mean…I’ll never be able to understand your feelings, but I can at least understand what you’re saying.”

Sans studies your face in silence for an uncomfortably long time – just when he appears to want to speak, you blurt in a delayed attempt to break the awkward air between you, cutting him off.

“Sorry if I came off as rude about Red. I just didn’t peg the two of you for the hotdog-stand kind of guys.”

“Huh.” Sans looks curious. “What would you peg me for, then?”

“A stand-up comedian, to name the obvious,” you say.

“Oh, I do that from time to time. Got a pal in Ebott who owns a hotel, gets me on the entertainment list whenever he can.”

You’re actually rather surprised – his jokes are pretty bad, but perhaps there is a decent audience for that kind of humour. It certainly makes you laugh. “Could I…maybe watch one, some day?”

Sans nods. “Sure.”

You then gesture towards the sky. “I also figured you’d want a job more involved with space and stuff.”

“Why would you think that?”

Sans’s voice has taken on a slightly suspicious edge. You glance back at him, but he doesn’t appear ruffled.

You shrug. “Just based on something Blue said.”

“Uh-huh.” Sans immediately looks defensive. “What did he say?”

“Just that you and Stretch like talking about stars.”

Sans visibly relaxes. “Eh, they’re okay. And, hey…even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. Haven’t got the credentials.”

“Right. Did you not have monster diplomas or anything like that?”

“Not exactly. Not for PHDs… If you could prove your efficiency to Asgore…like, if you built a robot from scratch, or somethin’…then you were kinda lumped in with the rest of the nerd crowd. We tended to stick together.”

What a strange system. “No schools?”

Sans scratches as his collar. “There were schools. But to be honest, s’long as your work produced results, it didn’t matter if you had a receipt that said you were qualified. M’not saying people recruited into the nerd crowd were uneducated. If you had potential, you were tutored by them personally.”

“So you were part of _the nerd crowd?_ ”

His only answer is a shrug. And it may have been your imagination, since the movement was so quick and so small, but Sans’s grin seemed to twitch a fraction wider, but was forcibly pulled back.

Perhaps he’s humble about it – he certainly doesn’t seem like the type to show off. Or maybe he’s just too lazy to brag.

“I’m pretty sure you could apply for a course in Ebott,” you suggest. “I know that there’s a funding scheme set up for people wanting to study monster related science, since there’s not enough information on it. If you wanted to, I mean,” you add quickly. 

“Nah, can’t be bothered to take ‘em again.”

_Again?_ Sans already has a diploma? “Did…you take a course already?”

“A while ago, yeah,” Sans says around a yawn.

Unless this diploma was in something akin to monster biology rather than his obviously favoured subject of astrology, then what’s he doing running a hotdog stand? And even then, any qualifications concerning monster biology would be greatly coveted among Ebott’s academic circles.

Before you can ask, Sans says, “Love to stay and chat, kid, but Red’ll get cranky if I eat into his break time.”

Ah, of course, he was on his way to work. “A break? At nine-thirty in the morning?”

“Hey, we run our own business. We can break whenever we want.”

“Right…sorry, I didn’t mean to hold you up.”

“Forget about it.” With a wink, he strolls at a leisurely pace down the path.

“Oh, wait! Before you go,” you call, “can I ask you something?”

Sans turns.

“It’ll be quick, I promise,” you assure him.

“Sure,” he says breezily.

It was the brief biology-related thought that has you recalling your conversation with Blue just the other day, but when you open your mouth to ask, you hesitate – would Sans think you rude if you asked him to confirm Blue’s story? You did a little research that very night, but all it did was present more questions, and very little answers.

_Alphys_ was a rather well-known name amongst the monsters – you’re rather ashamed of yourself for barely remembering her. As one of their top scientists, she had a huge hand in re-introducing humans to the biology behind monsters, their physiology, and the scientific methods of magic, rather than the mythological aspects. Already she has three books published, and was waiting on a fourth – you’ve already added her book _The Science Behind Magic_ to your online shopping cart.     

Though she seems like a pleasant person – a little bit of a recluse, and appears to be a nervous wreck when put in front of a microphone – it’s apparent that she has a rather demanding schedule, and you didn’t want to bother her with all of your questions – such as why on this earth a _scientist_ would train someone hoping to join the Royal Guard.

And watching her many interviews online, she didn’t seem nearly as _forceful_ as Blue proclaimed her to be…

And, of course, there was Blue. You definitely weren’t living under a rock for the past five years; there’s no mention of him anywhere online, no pictures, no interviews…

Though he had already confirmed that none of his interviews were watchable, but he had made is sound that though there were certain restrictions surrounding them that prevented you from accessing them. In reality, it was as if they just…didn’t exist.

“Um… It’s about Blue,” you say.

“Okay,” Sans says. “He alright?”

“Yeah, he’s fine,” you assure him. “I just…he told me something that confused me a little.”

Sans patiently waits for you to continue, but you’re suddenly overcome with a strange wave of guilt. Blue did say that it was _complicated_ , so should you really doubt him so quickly?

“Um…” But you hesitate again. Maybe you’re worrying far too much about something that isn’t worth stressing over…like Red and Slim’s bizarre relationships with Boss and Scar…

And how would Blue feel if he knew that you were going to his brothers behind his back like this? You can’t imagine that he would lie just to make himself look good. He does have a rather large ego for someone so small, but it’s not as though he goes out of his way to boast purely to attract attention. His self-confidence is rather enviable.

“Never mind,” you say. “Sorry.”

Sans quirks a brow. “You sure? Somethin’ bothering you?”

You shake your head, aware of the increasing heat rushing to your neck, climbing up to your cheeks. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry.”

The skeleton regards you for a long moment in silence, a curious gleam in his sockets. Then, with a shrug, he says, “Sometimes it’s better to just go with the flow. I know the natural instinct is to fight against the current, or try to alter your course in some way, but that usually just makes the journey harder.”

You blink. _What?_ Where on earth did that come from? “Wow…that sounded pretty philosophical for someone like you…”

“Someone like me?”

“From a guy who keeps a comb in his pocket when he has no hair, I mean.”

“Ah… _Toupee_ , kid.”

_Toupee?_ “Oh… _touché_! I get it.” Your brows then pull together. “Wait, no, that was really bad.”

Sans chuckles. “Gonna brush me off like that, huh? Alright…” He salutes, then turns to walk down the path. “See ya. Don’t work too hard.”

“You too,” you fire back.

Sans laughs. “Now that’s a promise I can keep.”

What a weird thing to respond with – you have the strangest feeling that those words carry far more weight than they should.

You attend to your toolbox, fishing out your power drill. When you look up, Sans has – of course – vanished.

Still slightly stunned by that small pearl of wisdom he had practically thrown at you, hitting you right between the eyes, you walk in a daze to the side of the house where you had propped the bug screen.

He does have a point – you can either keep stressing over the gaping holes in Blue’s story, or you can just trust him. Though you’ve only known him for a few weeks, he hasn’t given you any reason to doubt him.

And if there is some reason as to why he doesn’t seem to have any media presence, it’s far too much hassle to attempt to dig up his missing interviews just to prove that you’ve not slept through five years of your life and dreamt everything up until this point.

And Blue can’t seem to do anything about it, so, really, what’s the point in worrying? Just…go with the flow.

After you drag the bug screen around to the ladder, you pause to send Sans a quick text.

**You – 9:38 –** _Hey, just wanted to say thanks for the little pep talk_

**You – 9:39 –** _About the whole going with the flow thing. It really made me reconsider some things that may have upset people. So thanks :)_

It’s after you’ve finally fitted the bug screen and returned to your little conversion when you get a response.

**Sans – 11:03 –** _oh that? i got it from a fortune cookie_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hooooooooo boy its done!!
> 
> hope you liked it! and thanks for reading! <3


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